


Fake it Till You Break it

by LadyLan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, I know nothing about rugby, also kinda smutty, fake dating au, modernau, romcom, rugby!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLan/pseuds/LadyLan
Summary: My entry for the 2018 Vegebulocracy Big Bang Challenge! Woo.Bulma’s a PhD student putting off familial responsibilities. Vegeta’s a rugby player who just wants to tackle people and stay out of the spotlight. When their drunken night makes the morning headlines, it threatens to ruin everything for both of them.So they agree to fake-date for the tabloids. A perfect solution--so long as they don’t kill one another... or develop any pesky feelings first.





	1. The One with the Bad Date (and lots of cake)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to my Big Bang story!
> 
> Firstly, to my artists who didn’t choose me, but got stuck drawing art for this story. Thank you, thank you so much GreatRageShortLegs and Sanzosin.
> 
> Secondly, I’d like to say thanks to all of the organizers and mods over at the Vegebulocracy! It was their crazy idea to have this crazy fun collaboration between artists and authors in our super-fun fandom. Without them, this story wouldn’t have ever been written
> 
> Thirdly, to the amazing and talented Maiika and rockykelboa for beta-ing this story. You can thank them for catching my litany of typos and mistakes, and for making suggestions for improvement. (and I did a fair bit of adding and adjusting after they’d reviewed, so those mistakes are on me)
> 
> Fourthly, to Saiyanerd who posted the prompt “fake dating” when I was waffling between doing the Big Bang or not. I didn’t have any ideas, but I was watching a rugby anime when she suggested fake dating. This idea popped into my head, and I ran with it.
> 
> Everything I know about rugby is from the rugby anime All Out. So... I don’t really know anything. But I’d originally debated between American Football and soccer, neither of which quite felt right. I needed something less geographically limiting but with more contact--so rugby it is! And thus, Fake it Till You Break it was born.

Art by GreatRageShortLegs

Bulma Briefs adjusted her sunglasses and paused at her building so the doorman could let her in. Her condo was of the impressive sort--a glass-faced high rise that looked over a trendy street in West City. A street where colorful handbags sat in the window of designer shops and cold-pressed juice was served by a smiling young woman who knew the names of all the up-and-coming bands.

This was a section of the city where fairy lights wrapped the lampposts in the winter, where tourists flocked to the city’s beaches during the warm holiday months, and where the large, circular towers of West City tossed shade over the wide mouth of West Bay year-round. 

However, tonight the city held none of its usual charm. Bulma rode the elevator to the top floor, stomped her way down the hallway, and fished her keys from the bottom of her bag. Shaking with rage, she jammed her key into the lock and tugged it open with more force than was necessary. Once inside, she slammed the door and tossed her bag on the kitchen table. She could hear a celebrity chef’s voice from her roommate’s bedroom and, for the first time in so many hours, smiled.

“Cheech, are you watching reality baking shows again?”

The TV cut off and her roommate’s voice shot back, “Maybe.”

Bulma laughed and entered her roommate's bedroom. It was yellow and cheery inside. A flame danced in a mason jar and made the whole room smell like lemon cake.

Setting the remote beside the modest television, Chichi asked, “How was your date?” 

With a defeated sigh, Bulma dropped onto her roommate’s bed and scrubbed a hand over her face. 

“That good, eh?”

Bulma peeked through her fingers. “I can’t believe I washed my hair for that.”

“Were the tapas good, at least?”

“They were…” Bulma squinted at the ceiling, at a rare loss for words. She settled with, “...tiny. Why can’t I go on a date with actual sized food? And he spent the entire evening talking about his trust fund, like I give a shit about that.”

Chichi laughed. “You _are_ Bulma-fucking-Briefs.”

“And then…” Sliding her cell phone from her pocket, Bulma shoved the device under her friend’s nose. “Look." 

Chichi yelped. “That’s a dick!” She bit her lip, not quite able to tear her eyes from the penis staring back at her. “Wait. Is that _his_ dick?” 

“Yeah. He sent that to me after I told him I was going to call it a night, as though it were going to lure me into his bed.”

Chichi scrunched her nose, eyes not straying from the screen. “It’s so veiny.”

With a sigh, Bulma tucked her phone into her short’s back pocket. “I haven’t found a decent guy since Yamcha and I split. I didn’t think it’d be this…”

“Hard?” Chichi supplied, still trying not to think of the mystery man’s genitalia. She lay back on her bed, and both girls stared at the ceiling. “It’s tough out there.”

“You know, my dad used to tell me a bedtime story about these magic balls that had the power to grant wishes.”

Chichi lifted a brow in question, but only her ceiling fan could see the gesture.

Bulma continued, “At eight, I’d developed a plan to track them down and wish for the perfect boyfriend.”

Chichi grinned. “Because hunting for mythical wish-granting balls sounded easier than looking for a nice guy to settle down with?”

“It still does, honestly.”

Patting her friend’s bare thigh, Chichi said, “You’ll find someone.”

“And when I do, you’ll make my wedding cake?”

“Sure, Bee. And maybe I’ll be running my own shop by then and won’t have to answer to the Queen of Cakes.”

Bulma laughed. “Sounds like a plan, Cheech. She still heinous?”

“Yeah.” Chichi’s eyes darted to her phone where four missed messages from her boss were waiting for her. “I have to open for her in the morning, so I’ll miss HIIT class tomorrow.”

“No problem. I’m planning on missing, too.” Bulma made a face. She’d never made gym-time as much of a priority as Chichi, anyway.

“Oh? Lots of studying to do?" 

Bulma sat up, her blue bob swinging around her shoulders. “Nah. I had a shitty date. I’m going to watch a horror flick and drink an entire bottle of wine. Care to join me?” 

“I hate scary movies and you know I have to get up at 3:30 am to start baking.” 

Bulma shrugged. “Your loss.”

Chichi pulled herself into a sitting position and looked at her friend. Bulma was gorgeous and funny and too smart for her own good. But she always flitted through life with no sense of urgency and no real direction. They’d been roommates as undergraduates, and now, ten years later, Bulma was still reluctant to settle or be tied down by anything too permanent, so here she was, getting a second PhD at West City University and going on bad first dates.

Bulma sighed. “Well, Pinot and murder mystery are calling.”

“Fine.” Chichi shifted her jaw to one side. “One glass.”

 

……………………

 

Madame Cakes was a cozy shop only a couple blocks from her condo in West City. Working for Madame Cakes, known to Chichi’s friends as ‘The Cake Bitch’, had been a dream come true out of college. She was the ‘it’ woman of the cake world. Madame Cakes designed wedding cakes for all the elite, and she kept a small, tidy storefront with scones and petite fours in the window. There were three cake flavors a day that you could buy by-the-slice, and sometimes, when Madame Cakes was in a spectacularly good mood, or couldn’t be bothered with mundane things, Chichi was able to pick the flavors herself.

Today was one of those days. 

Humming to herself, Chichi detached the bowl from the stand mixer and evenly spread the batter for her pistachio vanilla cake into three round pans. After she’d popped them into the oven and set the timer, she went to work on her taro cake made with her signature cream cheese frosting. Last up would be the chocolate hazelnut cake, one of Madame Cakes’ recipes. 

Once the cakes were all baking, she washed her hands and checked her face. Wiping a bit of flour from her left cheek, Chichi exhaled and set to work opening the store. She turned the sign and unlocked the door. She set out the day’s scones and started a second pot of coffee. In an hour, Bethany would come to help run the register and fill customer orders, but the early mornings were usually slow, and Chichi liked the down-time.

She munched on a blueberry scone, the lemon glaze still warm, and read over the _West City Gazette_. When the bell rang, she smiled and automatically greeted, “Welcome to Madame Cakes, how can I--”

Her words died as Madame Cakes removed her sunglasses and frowned. “Yes? Do go on.”

Chichi smiled. “Sorry. The cakes are cooling. I’ll frost them in a bit. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“I had a last minute wedding cake booking. Apparently they’re in a race to the altar. Some model who needs a cake from me but probably won’t bother to try it. What do you have for me today?”

Chichi listed the day’s cakes, even though she’d written them out in chalk on the sign outside, and Madame Cakes nodded.

  
“Fine, fine. I don’t like taro, but that will do.” And then she marched to the back, shouting, “When the couple comes in, fetch me.” 

Chichi rang up an order for a pistachio cake and wrapped a scone for the road. She poured one of her regulars a coffee, and glanced over as the bell above the door chimed. 

A couple entered the shop hand-in-hand. The woman was tall and leggy, her aqua hair in a messy twist at the top of her head. Her eyes took in the room with eager, vapid blinks, and Chichi fought the urge to cringe. The man at her side, however, beamed with pride. He stood almost a foot shorter than the woman he clung to, but he carried himself with the sort of blind, foolish love that made Chichi’s heart flutter with hope. 

“Hi!” he greeted. “I’m Krillin, and this is Maron--my fiance.” There was a West City Dragons logo on his polo. He must’ve been a fan, because he looked far too short for professional Rugby.  
  
“Welcome to Madame Cakes, both of you,” Chichi greeted. “And congratulations!” 

“Thanks. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

“Yep. He definitely is!” The model giggled.

His grin was so genuine; Chichi’s heart sunk all the way to her knees. 

Later that day, the bell above the door chimed, and Bulma slid into an empty seat. The after-lunch crowd had evaporated, and the shop was empty, so Chichi plopped across from her best friend, slid a slice of cake across the table, and exhaled.

While it wasn’t strawberry cake, there was still dessert to soften the blow, so Chichi opened with, “Yamcha sent me a text.” 

“His quarterly check-in?”

Chichi tried to smile through Bulma’s glare. “He just wants to make sure you’re doing okay.” 

“I’m great,” she huffed. “Tell him I’m going on tons of dates and guys are texting me dick picks left and right.”

The tip of her nose crinkled. “No,” Chichi started, then made a face. “No. I’m not telling him any of that.”

Since Bulma wasn’t sure what else to suggest, she pushed her fork into the cake and watched the icing well up between the utensils slits. She and Yamcha had parted ways years ago. He’d been her first boyfriend, first everything, really, but they hadn’t had ‘it’--whatever _it_ was.

And Yamcha had been good to her. Nice. Probably too nice, really, when she thought back to their years together. But good to her and nice only went so far, and instead of going out with a bang like Bulma pictured all five-year commitments doing, their relationship had ended amicably with barely a sizzle.

“I’ll tell him, ‘She’s got cake. She’s fine’,” Chichi said, and Bulma rolled her eyes.

“Late night tonight?”

“Yeah. Bethany called in, so I’ll be closing by myself. Don’t wait up.” Chichi stood and adjusted her top knot, straightened her apron, and grinned at her friend.

The after-work dessert crowd started filing in, and Chichi found herself swamped with cake-by-the-slice orders and frosting an office-wide birthday cake for an uptown PR firm.

A frazzled secretary rushed out the door, cake box balanced precariously on her bangle-clad arms, and Chichi watched her go with a smile. When the shop was finally blissfully still, Chichi plopped into a chair in the back to rest her overworked feet, just as the bell above the door jingled, signaling a new customer. She hid a groan in her cupped hands and then injected some fake cheer in her voice as she said, “I’ll be with you in just one moment!”

And when she entered the front of the store, wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled politely at the tall, affable man salivating over the display cakes.

“I’ll have a slice of the chocolate, and two of the taro to go, please,” he ordered, his eyes gleaming.

Chichi grinned, trying not to check him out, and boxed up the trio of slices.

“I haven’t been here before, but... “ Smile lines crinkled his eyes. “I can eat a lot of cake.”

As he reached for his wallet, Chichi couldn’t help but notice the way his biceps stretched the fabric of his short-sleeved shirt.

Neatly, she stuck a sticker on the seal of his boxed cakes and placed a bamboo fork wrapped in a purple napkin on top. As she extended the cakes over the counter, their knuckles brushed and Chichi felt the box slip from her grip. The little bamboo fork clattered to the floor, and the box sat upturned on the countertop.

“I-I’m so sorry,” she heard herself saying before she’d formed the thought in her mind. The man’s smile never dimmed. Chichi opened the box and the three slices of cake were mostly intact, but the icing was a mess. She flushed; Madame Cakes would be appalled.

“Let me box you up some new slices.”

She’d never felt less put-together. Less sure of herself. She wasn’t clumsy. She wasn’t--

“It’s fine,” he laughed. “They’ll still taste like cake, yeah?”

Chichi exhaled. “Yes. But they’re on the house.” She tried for a smile, but it felt forced.

“Well, I promise to make it up to you and be a repeat customer,” he said with a wink. Then he left, and Chichi forgot to ask his name.

 

……………………

 

Chichi considered herself a patient person, all things considering. She patiently waited by Bulma’s side while her friend figured out whether she wanted to take over her family’s company or not. She held her best friend’s hand through the ups and downs of her relationship with Yamcha. She was there, again and again, after all Bulma’s crummy first dates.

She was always patient with customers--helping them through tough decisions like whether to opt for 75 sliced or 100. Smiling behind the register as they waffled between one of the slices of the day or if they wanted hazelnut or vanilla cream in their coffee. 

She’d waited patiently at the bakery for nearly two weeks, baking cakes to perfection, playing scenario after scenario in her mind for when Tall, Handsome Stranger made his return to the bakery. In all the possibilities her brain cooked up, she’d managed to be charming and funny and witty. He’d told her he loved her cakes, and then he’d ask her out.

But her patience was running thin. She’d taken two of Bethany’s closing shifts and spent too much time staring out the window, but he never returned.

And then her scenarios took a dark turn, and he hadn’t liked her cake. The frosting had been too sweet. The cake too dry.

“You’re insane,” Bulma told her one evening, not bothering to look up from her laptop. “He obviously loves your cakes. They’re world-famous. The Cake Bitch is the best of the best, and you’re even better.”

Just when she’d lost all patience and given up all hope, she spied him through the window approaching the cake shop. A big, goofy smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. His difficult-to-miss hairstyle spiked in at least 5 different directions. 

Instead of the charming and witty woman of her fantasies, Chichi dropped behind the counter with a yelp. She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the steady beats of her racing heart.

The door chimed, and she cursed under her breath. She was the only one working. She had to face him. She’d spent weeks _wanting_ to face him.

Getting to her feet, and praying her smile wasn’t bordering manic, she greeted him, “Oh, hello!”

“Hey!” His grin picked up a notch. “That taro cake you gave me the other day was in my top 5 favorite desserts, ever. I’d been hoping to make it back sooner!”

Oh. He’d _wanted_ to come back. Chichi felt her face flush. “Well, what can I get you? Unfortunately, we don’t have any taro cake by-the-slice today, but there’s a lemon lavender, a white chocolate cake with almond icing, and a carrot cake that won last year’s West City Cake Festival.”

“Ah… One of each, please!” he said, rubbing his belly like a hungry toddler. He was so nice and genuine, Chichi couldn’t help but find the gesture endearing. It didn’t help that he was built like an Olympic swimmer.

She cut him fatter slices than she’d ever cut for anyone, and she watched the way his eyes widened as she boxed them up carefully. Her hands shook slightly as she tied the ribbon and tucked the bamboo fork beneath the purple ribbon.

“You have a really good night.”

“Yeah.” He accepted the box of cake. “You, too.”

He turned to leave, and Chichi closed her eyes, tight, and sucked in a breath. Before he was all the way out the door, she called out, “Would-you-like-to-go-out-sometime?”

The words were all there, if slightly too close together. They hung awkwardly between them. When she pried open one eye, she found him standing in the doorway. He took a step back inside, and the door clicked gently into its frame.

“Uh.” Cradling the box of cakes in one hand, he turned slowly toward her and placed his free hand on his neck. She could already sense the apology in his usually-blinding smile, and her chest tightened. “You… You seem like a really nice girl, uh…” 

“Chichi,” she supplied, her voice cracking.

“Chichi,” he repeated. And damn how nice her name sounded on his lips. “But I’m… I’m not really the dating type. My job’s demanding. I travel a lot, and I couldn't give you the time or attention you’d deserve.”

It sounded like a practiced line. He was handsome, fit, nice. He was probably turning down girls left and right. Crazy girls like her, who’d wanted to date him before they even got to know him. 

“O...kay,” she whispered. “Thank you.” Immediately, she wondered why on Earth she was thanking him for turning her down, but there it was.

“Well, see you around,” he finished, and this time the door chimes jingled and the door shut with quiet finality. Once alone, Chichi sunk behind the register and willed herself not to cry.

Later that night, after she locked up the shop and started walking home, she passed a newsstand. A sports magazine boasted a smiling photo of the man who’d turned her down.

“Oh? You a fan of Goku Son, Miss?” the newstand employee asked. “I hear he’s a real nice guy.”

Chichi wanted to scream. It was like the whole fucking world was kicking her in the teeth.

 

……………………

 

“Aaaaand another stack of pancakes,” the waitress sang, setting a plate on the table with thud. She then fluttered away in a cloud of perfume, and Whis yanked the plate in his direction as Chichi poured another round of mimosas from the glass carafe.

“Get off your phone, Bee,” Whis demanded.

With a dramatic sigh, she looked up just in time to accept a freshly poured mimosa.

“This is a nice spot, Chi,” Whis said conversationally. His pancakes now cut into proper triangles, he stabbed a row with his fork prongs and rolled his eyes. “Phone, Bulma.”

“Sorry,” she grumbled. “One of my labmates constantly needs my approval on her projects. I’m just a PhD researcher, not the CEO of Capsule Corp...”

Bulma slipped her phone into her purse and reached for her mimosa. “Oh! But I’ve got some exciting news.” She grinned, her eyes gleaming mischief. “Chichi _met a guy_.”

Whis’ eyes widened. In all the time he’d known the pair, he couldn’t think of a time Chichi had met anyone worth mentioning. Bulma had been on-and-off, then, finally, off with the semi-professional baseball player before a string of bad first dates, but Chichi had been oddly focused on cake.

The woman in question fiddled with a slice of bacon. “I…” And then she took a bite and chewed.

“What’s he like? Show me a photo,” Whis demanded.

“Ah…” Chichi looked at Bulma’s big, mocking smile, and sighed. “Fine,” she grumbled, reaching into her bag and pulling out the _Sports Pass_ magazine.

“Oh. Goku Son,” Whis said. “He’s on the West City rugby team.”

Bulma’s eyebrows raised. She didn’t follow sports, but the fact that Whis recognized him was surprising.

“Yeah, I used to date his brother. They’re both on the team.” His thoughts drifted to Raditz and his muscles and all that hair, and he quickly stuffed another forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

“It doesn't matter.” Chichi sighed and put the magazine away. “I asked him out, but he turned me down. He probably thinks I’m an obsessed fangirl.”

Bulma shrugged and downed her mimosa. “Doesn’t mean you should give up. He’s famous, Chi, but not untouchable.”

“You’re famous, too. And you’re always complaining when random strangers ask you out.”

“That’s different,” Bulma insisted. 

“How?”

Bulma was suddenly interested in slathering a slice of toast with strawberry jelly. Chichi rolled her eyes.

 

……………………

 

“Fuck me,” Bulma whined. “I shouldn’t have missed Tuesday’s class.”

Chichi laughed, a fifteen pound kettlebell in her grip as she lowered herself into a sumo squat. “Well, what did you have for dinner last night?”

“Salad,” Bulma replied. She wiped her hands on her workout pants. No amount of moisture-wicking material could remove the sweat from her palms, and so she decided against using any weight. “And some of that leftover cake you brought home.” 

“Stop chattering!” their instructor snapped. Both Bulma and Chichi immediately bit their lips together, each equally terrified of the trainer. However, it didn’t stop the instructor from pausing in front of the two girls and criticizing them further.

“Bulma, keep your back straight. Your posture is even worse than normal.” 

Bulma sighed. “18, I’m trying to gain an inch to my ass. Can I just skip abs today?”

“You need a strong core to make any progress,” 18 replied, in her signature, no-nonsense monotone. “Start with the foundation, and then we’ll see about your ass.” 

Bulma watched her go, mouth slanted in a frown. Chichi muffled a laugh with her shoulder. 

“Well, she’s right,” Chichi offered, knowing it would fall on deaf ears. Bulma could dish out all sorts of opinions to those who hadn’t asked, but she was a very difficult person to give advice to.

“She’s also a PR manager at CC, and I could have her fired.”

Chichi lowered herself into another squat, conscious of her breathing. “But you don’t actually work at CC, remember? And your dad sold fifty-one percent of his shares, so it’s not technically your family’s company anymore.”

“Technically,” Bulma bit. And then, her anger evaporated, and she clapped her hands together. “Oh! I nearly forgot. Cancel all your plans for tonight.”

“Tonight?" 

“Yeah. I got us on the very-exclusive, invitation-only guest list for the West City Dragons’ Summer Social.” 

“What…?”

“I have friends in high places.” Bulma winked.

“Bulma!” 18 snapped, once again stopping in front of the pair of women. Her icy gaze flicked from Chichi to Bulma to back again. Then, she placed one hand on her waist. Almost reflexively, Bulma dropped her gaze to 18’s bare stomach, where a slab of rock-hard abs was on full display. On her worst of days, Bulma felt a solid 10. 18 made her feel… fluffy. “No more talking.” And then she marched off to yell at some other poor, unsuspecting class-goers.

“She’s terrifying,” Bulma whispered. “I love her.”

Chichi shook her head. “I don’t have any plans tonight, but--”

“‘But’ nothing. We’re going to snag you a rugby captain!”


	2. The One with the Party

“Nope.” Bulma shook her head. “That’s definitely, definitely not slutty enough.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going for slutty.”

“This place is going to be packed with models and actresses and heiresses trying to lock down a professional athlete, Cheech. You could stand to show a little more thigh.”

Chichi smoothed down the fabric of her red dress, happy that the soft fabric fluttered around her knees. “I think I look hot.”

“You do,” Bulma replied. And then started sorting through her roommate’s shoes. She handed over a pair of simple nude pumps.

When they entered the party, Bulma groaned internally. She’d hoped for something a bit more upbeat. She’d envisioned there’d be thumping bass and an illuminated bar. This was… classy. Nearly as boring of a setup as one of the Capsule Corp. functions she’d been dragged to in her youth.

There were round tables scattered about the room and the only bass that trummed was from the live jazz band. There was a large, oak bar in one corner of the room and the lights were dim enough that if Bulma squinted, she didn’t feel quite so out of place. Chichi’s modest red dress was certainly more en vogue than her black skirt and white, sleeveless top better suited for clubbing, but she’d never admit it aloud.

“Do we have to pick a table?” Chichi whispered, a bit of fear seeping into her voice.

Before Bulma could answer, a couple rushed them. The woman--a tall, leggy bluenette--tossed her arms around Chichi and squeezed.

“You’re the girl making our wedding cake!” she squeaked into Chichi’s dark hair. “Come! Sit, sit with us!”

Bulma’s eyes widened as she followed the pair to an empty table. She procured a champagne flute from one of the trays being carried around the room by the wait staff, and willed herself not to down the thing in one go.

“What was your name again?”

“Chichi.”

“Ah! Yes! And I’m Maron, and this cutie here is my soon-to-be-husband Krillin! He’s the West City Dragon’s team manager. A ‘team manager’ is like a smart-people word for coach.” Maron’s voice raised an octave with each sentence she spoke. Bulma squinted at her, but Chichi did a good job keeping her smile polite. “Isn’t he adorable?!”  
  
The man flushed under what Chichi could only assume was praise.

“Thank you guys so much for choosing Madame Cakes for your wedding cake. It’s flattering that you’re entrusting us with such a big part of your special day,” Chichi repeated what she knew sounded a rehearsed line. She was suddenly envious of Bulma’s half-empty champagne flute.

“Well, _West City Weddings_ says you’re the best!” Maron sang.

“We’re just glad you were able to squeeze us in on short notice.” Krillin ran his finger over the condensation sweating on the outside of his glass. “It was last minute, but we… We don’t want to wait.”

“That’s right, we-- Oh! Look, Goku and Vegeta are here!” Maron giggled and waved her linen napkin in the air to catch their attention. “Goku! Com’ere!”

Chichi’s throat constricted as the pair of men joined them at their table. What was it about this guy that had her heart beating hummingbird quick, her palms sweating?

His gaze met hers, and his eyes widened. “Oh, hey! Chichi!”

Chichi flushed. Bulma grinned. Krillin asked, “You guys know one another?”

“Yeah!” Goku replied. “Chichi makes the best taro cake in West City-- No, the entire planet.”

He was dressed nicer than the last two times they’d met, but his face was just as open, his hair still as… big. The top button of his shirt was left undone and his tie was askew. It kind of look like he’d gotten ready in the dark, but somehow it was endearing. It didn’t hurt that his biceps were straining his white shirt. Chichi tugged at the hem of her dress and swallowed to combat the sudden dryness of her throat.

“I”m Bulma,” Bulma greeted to the other newcomer to the table. He stood at Goku’s side, his hair an upswept flame from the crown of his head. His dark eyes narrowed below slanted brows, his full lips pressed in a scowl. He was handsome, sure, but looked so unhappy to be there she got the impression he wasn’t there by choice. Though his clothes were more neatly pressed, he was just as fit. Bulma bit her lip as she let her eyes rake down his compact frame.

When he only grunted in response to her greeting, Goku clapped a hand on his back and laughed.

“This is Vegeta. He’s no fun at parties.”

“He’s no fun, period,” Maron added.

Vegeta took a sip of water from his bottle and carried on ignoring them.

“So! Are you ladies big fans of my Krillin’s team?” Maron asked conversationally. Before either girl could answer, she gushed, “Wow. Chichi. You’re pretty toned. Do you play sports, too?”

While Chichi flushed under the attention, Bulma jumped on the opportunity to talk her best friend up. “We take a HIIT class together, but Chichi also lifts and takes kickboxing. She could probably take on some of you guys.”

Chichi rolled her eyes. “That’s an exaggeration. And I only workout so much because, well, I spend a large portion of my day sampling cake.”

“So she says, but I think she just likes kicking chicks in the face.” Bulma pointed to her cheek and winked.

Maron laughed, and Goku’s eyes sparkled. Bulma knew whatever reservations Goku had about dating were being tossed out the window. The best taro cake on the planet _and_ she could kick ass--her best friend was a freakin’ catch.

Goku asked, “Chichi, would you like to get a drink?”

“Uh.” She blinked. “Of course.”

Bulma watched as the pair chatted and laughed their way over to the bar. After a few minutes, when they didn’t return, Bulma realized she was alone at a table with three complete strangers.

“Well, damn,” she muttered under her breath. It wasn’t the kind of party that you could dance by yourself without a care. Bulma swapped her gaze at her three remaining tablemates. There was the model who hadn’t tried a bite of Chichi’s cake she was so excited about, the team manager who seemed nice enough, and the surly guy drinking water when there was an open bar.

“Oh! Raditz and Tien are here,” Maron said, jumping to her feet. Her dress was peach with gauzy, ruffled tears. She was fixing some of the floaty fabric as she crossed the room, and Bulma’s mouth popped open as she watched Maron flirt openly, meters from her fiance.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, that’s just how she is,” Krillin said. And even though Bulma knew it was meant to convince her, it sounded a bit like he was trying to convince himself, too.

“She’s a tramp.”

“Don’t call my fiancé a trap, Vegeta!”

“Then don’t date one,” the man grunted into his water.

Bulma squinted at him. “Did you just use ‘tramp’ to describe someone?” When he didn't answer, she cast another glance toward Maron. Her hand was on one of the men’s chests as she laughed unabashedly. Krillin sighed and Bulma slapped her open palm onto the table.

“All right! It’s super clear to me that we aren’t currently having any fun so… Who wants to do shots?”

“Ah.” Krillin scratched the top of his bald head. “Sure. What the hell.”

Bulma turned to Vegeta, and he glared back at her. She quirked a brow, and he seemed to focus on a spec somewhere an inch or so above her right shoulder. Finally, she exhaled and asked, “That a no?”

His jaw tightened. “Fine.”

“Okay, then! I’ll be right back.”

It only took a smile and a well-timed blink, and the bartender handed over three shot glasses and a bottle of top-shelf whiskey. She fluttered back to the table and set a glass in front of the pair of men.

“All right. What are we drinking to?”

“You’re the one who suggested shots and procured a bottle,” Vegeta grunted.

“Well, shouldn’t we… make a toast or, I don’t know,” Bulma fumbled, “play a game or something?”

“A drinking game?” Vegeta snorted. “We aren’t teenagers.”

“But a toast sounds nice,” Krillin interjected.

“Fine.” Bulma unscrewed the cup and filled the shot glasses with amber-colored liquid. “To rugby, then!”

Vegeta’s lips flexed to a frown, but Krillin grinned and said, “To rugby!” before clinking his glass against Bulma’s and downing the whiskey in one go.

“Blah!” Bulma sputtered. She rubbed the back of her hand over her lips, her face puckered and contorted and her nose crinkled at the tip. When she opened her eyes, Krillin was opening and closing his mouth like a caught fish, but Vegeta had his arms crossed looking severely underwhelmed by the whole thing.

“Another?” she asked, and he passed the shot glass back across the table. Krillin paused, looked over to where Maron was now playing with her hair, and handed his glass back over for a refill.

After her second shot, Bulma checked in on her friend. Chichi looked happy, her hair loose and her eyes all shiny, and Bulma couldn’t help but grin. If anyone in the universe deserved happiness it was definitely, definitely Chichi.

She wasn’t even jealous, just bored, so she took another shot. Then another. And then another.

There might’ve been more after that, but it started to get a little fuzzy. Krillin dropped his forehead onto the table, lifted it, and dropped it a couple more times.

“I don’t know if Maron is drunk, but…”

Bulma craned her neck to spy Krillin’s fiance flirting with different guys than before in the far corner of the room. She made a face. “Wow, that’s not cool…”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and then turned his head so he cheek was resting on the tabletop. “Guess that’s my cue. It was good shooting whiskey with you, ah…”

“Bulma,” she replied with a laugh.

“Yeah. Bulma. And,” his eyes crinkled as he got to his feet. “And Vegeta. I really do appreciate you coming out tonight. Thank you.”

Even though Krillin was still standing there, Bulma turned to Vegeta. “Why’s he thanking you for coming to a party?”

“Because functions like these are huge waste of the team’s time and resources. The club throws away so much on pointless shit like this every year.” Vegeta’s knuckles were white around the empty shot glass. “This room costs 80,000 zeni to rent out. Sixty-five guests, an open bar that runs about 500 zeni a person, the food’s another 300, that’s…”

“132,000 zeni,” Bulma supplied. Krillin and Vegeta sent her equal blank stares, and she pressed a finger against her temple. “Probably drunk, but still good with numbers.”

Vegeta turned his glare back to Krillin. “The money would be better allocated towards trainers and equipment or marketing. And our time as players would be better suited--”

“Anyway,” Krillin interrupted. “It’s good for you to show up. The paparazzi outside will have photos of you coming and going and it’ll make you seems less… reclusive. Remember, you need sponsors, and sponsors are only going to endorse you if they find you a bit more,” he paused, searching for a word that wouldn’t make Vegeta want to punch him in the throat, but finally settled with, “likeable.”

He left before Vegeta could interject, and Bulma screwed the cork back on the bottle.

“So, you’re a loner then?”

Vegeta ignored her. He was too busy glowering at a table nearby where a group of his teammates and their dates were chatting and laughing. Then his dark gaze swapped to where Chichi and Goku were huddled together in a corner.

Bulma sighed. Apparently the most conversation anyone would get out of this guy was to listen to him complain about what a waste of time this was. “I think I’m going to return this bottle. Want to grab some water?”

Vegeta didn’t answer, just got to his feet and started walking toward the bar. With a roll of her eyes, Bulma quickly stood and followed him across the room because she didn’t want to be alone, as pathetic as it sounded in her own head.

“Here you go,” Bulma said, passing the half-empty bottle over the oak bar top. “And two waters, please.”

There was a man waiting on his drink at her left, and he leaned over, thoroughly invading her personal space. He smelled like coconut rum and too much cologne. “Water? Done drinking already? A pretty girl like you deserves to have some more fun.”

Bulma groaned inwardly. She supposed he was attractive, maybe. An athlete what with his built forearms and strong jaw. Then he placed a hand on her hip like it belonged there and Bulma took a step back.

“You look familiar. Have you been to one of these things before?”  
  
“Nope. First time,” Bulma replied.  
  
“Hm. Have we hooked up before then?”

“Definitely not.” Bulma’s smile was saccharin, her eyes fire.

“Well, I’m sure I know you from somewhere…”

“Sorry. I just have a familiar face.”  
  
Vegeta handed her a bottle of water and she took it, turning her back to the rugby player who was either hitting on her or lacking any social graces, and she made a face.

“Go away,” Vegeta grunted. And the man grumbled and left them.

“Thanks for defending my honor.”

“What honor?”

Bulma rolled her eyes and untwisted the cap to her water. Then, she plopped down on a barstool beside Vegeta because, apart from Chichi, he was the only person she knew in the room.

“So,” she began. “What’s your story?”

It shouldn’t have surprised her, really, when the socially constipated man beside her uncapped his water bottle and took a drink. His eyes didn't flicker her way, his jaw didn’t even tighten in annoyance. It was more like he was pretending she wasn’t there. Bulma could tolerate a lot of things, but being ignored wasn’t one of them. Her fist tightened around the flimsy bottle of water and her voice cracked as she snapped, “Hey! An intelligent, gorgeous and interesting woman is trying to talk to you. Do you have a personality problem?”

His gaze settled on her, slowly. Instead of addressing what she found a valid question, he said, “Your friend is going to distract Kakarot.”

“Who’s Kakarot?”

At this, his jaw shifted to one side. “The idiot flirting over there.”

“Oh.” Bulma nodded. “Goku. Yeah, they’re cute, huh?”

“She’s bad for him.”

“Chichi?!” Bulma laughed. “Chichi isn’t bad for anyone. Chichi is a studious, cake-baking, rational, put-together-woman any guy would be lucky to have a chance to flirt with.”

“I can’t have him distracted. He’s already got his head in the clouds half the time. I don’t need a gold-digger tossed into the mix.”

“Hey, listen here, bud,” Bulma said through clenched teeth, punctuating each word with a jab of her finger against his solid arm. “Chichi isn’t a distraction. And she sure as hell isn’t a gold-digger.”

One of Vegeta’s brows lifted. “Oh? So then why did you two come to this party? It wasn’t to seduce a couple of professional athletes.”

Bulma blew a raspberry. “Shut up. You don’t know anything.”

“I know plenty. Starting with the kinds of women that toss themselves at unsuspecting men like Kakarot, who honestly think everyone they meet is as pure-hearted and naive as he is.”

Bulma smiled. He might not have meant it, but there was a little bit of a compliment there in Vegeta’s words. Goku was as nice as he seemed. Her chest swelled with happiness for her friend.

“And you?” Bulma asked, playing with the wrapping on her now-empty water bottle. “Are you so superior you don’t get distracted by silly things like pretty girls at parties?”

“Feh, of course not.” And he looked smug saying it, too. “It would reflect poorly on my reputation.”

Bulma laughed. “Your reputation?! What a conceited asshole you are.”  
  
“Me, conceited. Says the woman who calls herself beautiful and interesting.”

Waving her hand toward the bartender, Bulma said, “A double shot of whiskey, please.”

The man behind the bar poured it quickly, some of the amber liquid sloshing onto the plastic mat. Then he handed the glass over, and Bulma downed the drink in three gulps.

When she got to her feet, everything was fuzzy. Sounds were a touch distorted, and she wavered on her heels for a second before righting herself.

Meeting Vegeta’s disapproving frown, she said, “Goodnight, jerkface,” before marching to the elevator.

She was going to send Chichi a text message, but she couldn’t find her phone. She also needed to call a ride share because she wasn’t in any shape to drive home, but--

“Why is there so much shit in my bag?!” she whined. And then the spot at her right was occupied, and her eyes widened.

“I was trying to make a dramatic exit,” she snapped.

Vegeta shrugged. “I was ready to leave.”

“Probably for the best, because the only person willing to talk to you was on their way out,” she mumbled. “Where is the elevator?!” she asked, pressing the button again. It flashed, but nothing happened. She pressed it again, harder this time.

“Pressing the button multiple times isn’t going to make it arrive any sooner.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can you just shut up?”

Vegeta glanced at his watch, then stared at the shut elevator doors. When it pinged and finally, finally opened, two women poured out with a sigh.

“I’d take the stairs,” one of the women warned. “That thing is on the fritz.”

Since Bulma was in no state to take either stairs or advice, she stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. Vegeta leapt in quickly after her, and the doors shut.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The air was warm and the space small. She could smell him--clean soap and a bit of whiskey--and if she leaned an inch or so toward him they’d be touching.

When she looked over, he was still frowning at the elevator buttons.

“We aren’t moving.”

“Oh.” Everything was spinning slightly to the right, and he was so close and she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she had. She couldn’t remember.

Vegeta poked the button and when nothing happened, he growled.

“Be patient,” Bulma muttered. She started digging in her bag for her phone and then she dropped her purse--some of the contents clattered to the ground. She moved to pick them up, teetered to one side and grabbed hold of Vegeta’s shoulder for support.

A slow blink, and then she was looking up at him. He was so close. His eyes dark, his high cheekbones shadowed in the lowlight of the elevator.

“Hey,” she said, hearing her voice kind of airy and far away. “You’re kind of handsome when you’re not frowning at me.”

“Hmph.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she tightened her grip on him. Still using his shoulder for support, she pressed her lips against his. It was a feather-light touch and lasted a hair's breadth of a second. She pulled away and squinted at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

He blinked over at her and she wondered if he was as drunk as she felt. If his head was as fuzzy, if--

He pressed his lips against hers, and it wasn’t as quick or as gentle as when she’d done it. It was almost frantic. She parted her lips and their teeth clashed and she tightened her hold on his bicep for support.

They pulled apart and she panted slightly, grinning back at the eagerness in his eyes. For the first time since they’d met, he didn’t look upset at her being there.

Bulma moved her hand across his sculpted shoulders. His lips were so near she could feel his breath on her skin, smell the whiskey that reminded her that they were drunk and irrational and in an elevator.

Then his hands moved quickly from the curve of her waist to her backside, lifting her off her feet and pressing her against the cool metal wall and she forgot all those minor details again.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, his hands skimming up her thigh, taking the fabric of her skirt with them. His lips tasted her there, nibbled here. Bulma threw her head back, ready. Through the foggy haze that was her thoughts, she wasn’t sure if she’d been more ready for anything in her life.

“Wait!” she said, and motioned to the contents of her purse on the floor. “I have a condom. Somewhere...”

She was torn between laughing--as Vegeta bent to grab a discarded condom--and groaning with impatience. Quickly, she unbuckled his belt and helped roll the condom on, her grin bright and wide as she felt how very ready he was for this. She gave him a firm squeeze just for good measure, delighting in how his shoulders slouched forward, how his eyes widened in surprise and pleasure all at once.

The second the condom was on, he lifted her and slammed her none too gently against the solid wall of the elevator. Vegeta yanked her panties aside before burying himself inside her, hissing against her ear as she gasped into his throat. Her legs tightening around his hips, her heels digging into his back. A few thrusts and she found his mouth again, her teeth nipping at his full lower lip.  
  
His hand skimmed under her top and found the lacy material of her bra. Her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his firm shoulders.

She came and he felt it first--her tightening around him. He heard it second--the breathy little pants in his ear. Then she tipped her head back, blue hair sweaty on her shoulders, and gasped. The feel of her release and the sound of her voice echoing in the small elevator nearly caused him to lose control.

But the alcohol and his own selfish desire helped him on. A few more deep, frantic pumps and then he groaned in release. Their bodies still pressed together, their breathing heavy and uneven.

Then the elevator lurched and, before either could act, the doors flew open and there was a burst of light. Then another and another. Then, finally, Bulma blinked through the blinding flashes, and there stood a gaggle of reporters and paparazzi and cameramen waiting in the elevator bay.

Vegeta cursed and slammed his palm against a button. Bulma slid onto shaky legs as the metallic elevators doors met with barely a sound.

art by Sanzosin


	3. The One with the Plan

Krillin slammed the magazine on the laminate surface of the table, and Vegeta flinched behind his sunglasses.

“I suppose this is partly my fault, seeing as to how I forced you to come, let you take shots, and then left you both to your own devices,” Krillin said.

Vegeta glanced down at the tabloid and grimaced. He’d seen several of that morning’s headlines, of course. He’d awoken in a rare state of hangover and seventeen missed text messages. Most of them from teammates, asking him ‘what the hell?!’ or, in Raditz's case, congratulating him.

The covers were some variation of the one under Krillin’s hand. Himself and the blue haired woman from the party inside the elevator. Her legs wrapped around him, eyes wide and bright and blue.

He groaned. “I need coffee.”

“No, you need to finish this conversation.” Krillin exhaled. “I asked you to go to the party to help your public image. You’ve been a brooding, anti-social mess since you’ve joined the team. All the rumors from the North City Freeze were that you were selfish, aloof, uncaring. But I wanted to refresh that now that you’re a Dragon. I wanted a couple photos of you leaving with your teammates, showing what a good, upstanding guy you could be. Instead you give them photographs of you…”

“Fucking?” he supplied.

Krillin groaned. “Having sex with Capsule Corp. Heiress Bulma Briefs!”

“I didn’t know who she was.”

“You think that makes it better?” Krillin asked.

The door creaked and Goku entered, his smile blinding. The door slammed behind him, and Vegeta groaned. Goku had a drink carrier in tow with a trio of coffees. “Hey, Vegeta!” he greeted, extending a coffee to himself and one to Krillin. “How was your night?”

There was no malicious teasing in his tone. Goku was quite possibly the only person in the universe to ignore any and all news, and to be blindly optimistic and naive to his fame.

Then his gaze dropped to the tabloid on the table and his smile evaporated. “Oh. You had sex with Chichi’s friend, then.”

“So it would seem,” Vegeta muttered.

“You were drinking a lot, and you hardly ever drink.” Goku laughed. “Usually you lecture everyone else about how bad drinking is for you, and how it will negatively impact your game--”

“Shut up, Kakarot.”

Krillin sighed. “So, how are we going to clean this mess up?”

“We wait it out.” Vegeta crossed his arms. “Another scandal will come up, and they’ll move on. No big deal.”

“ _ No big deal _ ?!” Krillin spread his hands wide, as though to emphasize what a very big deal it was. “You’re a representative of our brand. The West City Dragons are the pulse of the city. We’re a family team, Vegeta. The Mother’s Association of Young Rugby Players are in an uproar. They’ve sent me eleven emails this morning, demanding I have you removed from the team.”

“That’s ridiculous. I play rugby. I don’t need mob approval from a bunch of bored housewives.”

Krillin rubbed his temples. “It is a big deal if they convince any of our sponsors to pull out.”

“Pull out,” Goku chuckled. “Which I hope you did.”

“Shut up, Kakarot.” Vegeta’s grip on his paper coffee cup made the lid pop off. Scorching coffee splashed on his forearm, and he cursed.

“This is a big deal, Vegeta,” Krillin said, and he sounded more serious than Vegeta had ever heard him. “I’ll work on your official statement today, and I’ll run it by you after practice, sound good?”

It sounded like shit. Vegeta snapped his lid back on his coffee and left the room. Goku sighed.

“I would’ve thought finally meeting a nice girl would make him less…”

“Of an asshole?” Krillin offered, tossing the tabloid into the wastebasket by his desk.

“Well, I don’t know about that. But I thought he’d be a bit happier, at least.”

 

………………..

 

“You have to stop sleeping around.”

Bulma frowned into the mouthpiece of her cell phone. “Good morning, 18.”

“I’m serious, Bulma. Just because you aren’t officially a part of the company doesn’t mean your reputation doesn’t reflect poorly on your dad’s position.”

Bulma sighed. “I’m on my way to CC right now. I’ll be up in a couple minutes.”

Stuffing her phone back into her buttersoft leather satchel, Bulma lowered her sunglasses over her eyes. It wasn’t a particularly sunny day, but the light hurt her pounding head. She took a sip of coffee as she glided through the doors to Capsule Corp. The security guards waved her through, and she rode the thankfully perfectly functioning elevator to the third floor where the PR team was busy working to clear up her latest mess.

“Hey, 18.”

The blonde woman glanced up from a tabloid, and Bulma made a face.

In lieu of greeting, 18 said, “Can’t you find someone to settle down with?”

“No. And even if I did work here--which I don’t--who I sleep with wouldn’t make it any more of the company’s business.”

“Like it or not, Bulma, your fame is thanks to this company--”

“Oh, yeah.” Bulma rolled her eyes. The magazine where her legs were wrapped around some famous athlete was staring back at her. “I’m really enjoying all the fame.”

“Your dad holds forty-nine percent of the company. He sold you another two percent. The board holds the other forty-nine and, currently, they’re discussing how to edge you out of the picture.” 18 tucked the tabloid into her bag and rested her backside against her desk. During HIIT workouts, 18 wore sports bras and spandex pants, but within the walls of CC it was all grey pantsuits. Bulma wasn’t sure which was more intimidating. “I’m serious, Bulma. Your dad has all but checked-out. His hopes were that, one of these days, you’d stop going to school and drifting through life and take responsibility. He’s basically taken his retirement, and has been hands-off since.”

Bulma knew her father wouldn’t want her to feel any pressure to make any decisions she wasn’t ready for, but she also knew that he’d established the board of directors to help with the business side of CC while he took long stints on cruises, gallivanting around the globe. 

“This isn’t coming from me as an employee of Capsule Corp, Bulma, this is coming from a friend.” 18 shifted her weight on her heels. “The board’s moving to take complete control. This might be damaging enough to show that you’re disinterested and unfit to ever take over.”

“That’s bullshit.”

18 frowned. “It’s business.”

“Well, what does Dad say?”

“I’m not interrupting his 150 day cruise for something so…”

“Ridiculous?” Bulma lifted one of her brows. “You know my parents. My dad wouldn’t say a thing, and my mom would invite Vegeta over for dinner and ask if he’s staying for breakfast.”

“Your father doesn't see the big picture. That’s why CC has a PR team. To help with public issues like these.”

Bulma opened her mouth to interject, but 18 cut her off.

“Like it or not, Bulma, the opinion the board has of you matters. If you aren’t planning on ever running CC, then this conversation doesn’t matter. We’d still be happy to keep your reputation shiny, if you’d like, but your personal life is just that--personal. But, if any part of you wants to run this company some day, like it or not, the opinion of the board matters.”

Bulma shifted her jaw to one side. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

 

…………...

 

She marched to her building and rode the elevator to her condo, irritation keeping even the friendliest of acquaintances from striking up a conversation. Even the overly-familiar doorman avoided eye contact as he let her in.

But Bulma didn’t notice. She was furious, and the last thing she needed was a board of old men telling her what to do--especially that she should be settling down and not sleeping with whomever she pleased. Because she was twenty-eight-years-old and could sleep with anyone she damn well wanted.

She slammed the door, and Chichi’s head popped up over the back of the couch.

“Hey, Bee. Bad day?”

“You have no idea,” Bulma grumbled, and then rummaged through the fridge for a sparkling water. She wanted cake, but settled on a bag of Chichi’s semi-sweet baking chips. Pouring a handful into her palm, she crunched them between her teeth while asking, “So, how was your evening?”

“Um. No way.” Chichi’s eyes were wide. “You go first.”

“You probably already saw how my evening went.”

Chichi bit her lips together to contain her grin.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Yes, fan-fucking-tastic. Now! Spill! You and Goku looked rather cozy.”

“He’s…” Chichi paused, trying to settle on the right word to describe the man she’d been enamored with ever since he’d stepped foot inside the bakery so many weeks ago. “He’s nice. We chatted about kickboxing and martial arts tournaments. He asked for my number, said he’d come by Madame Cakes after he got out of practice.”

Bulma stepped around the couch and poured some chocolate chips into her friend’s hand.

“So, you like him?”

“I really do.”

“Wow!” Her eyes widened. “This is huge! Chichi, you never like anyone. Of course, he is a hunky famous athlete with a heart of gold... Maybe your standards were just high.”

Chichi grinned. “Maybe.”

“Much higher than mine,” Bulma grumbled. “I put out on the elevator to the grouchy guy because he, I dunno, talked to me?”

“You were both drunk.”

“So drunk.”

Chichi laughed. “Goku said Vegeta never goes out with the team, and he doesn’t ever drink or spend time with anyone, so he must’ve liked you.”

“Apparently liking me is all it takes to get my panties around my ankles.”

“Actually,” Chichi pulled a magazine from the coffee table and pointed at the cover, “it doesn’t look like your panties were around your ankles, more like--”

“Jeez, Cheech! You bought a copy?!”

“I was hoping you’d autograph it for me.” She set the tabloid back on the table. It hit the glass with a hollow  _ thunk _ . “Is 18 very mad?”

“Incredibly. She thinks this’ll ruin any chance I have of ever taking over CC.”

“Oh.” Chichi frowned. Thus far she’d only found the whole thing amusing at Bulma’s expense and hadn’t considered the broader repercussions. “Is that really the case?”

“I don’t know. It’s a mess, but it’s my mess. I don’t need 18 and twenty strange men delving into who I sleep with. It isn’t their business.”

“Well, do you even  _ want _ to be CEO someday?”

“Someday, probably.” Bulma was suddenly very interested in the bag of chocochips. “I don’t know. But I want it to be my decision, you know?”

Chichi bit her lip. She was chasing her dream, suffering under the Cake Bitch to one day get the chance to run her own cake shop. It always felt a bit like Bulma was running away from her responsibilities. Not that baking cake and heading the most successful scientific corporation on the planet were similar anyway she sliced it.

But regardless, she didn’t know. Not really. So she squeezed Bulma’s knee and said, “I have no clue, but I also don’t know how you could clean this mess up. A picture’s worth a thousand words, and you’ve got, well…” Her eyes darted to the tabloid cover. “I don’t know how you’d make something like this right. Unless...”

Bulma quirked a brow. “Unless, what?”

“Unless it wasn’t some random hook up. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if Vegeta were, like, your boyfriend or something?”

Tossing her head back, Bulma shook with laughter. And then she paused, frowned, and sighed.

“Well, shit.”

 

…………………...

 

It wasn’t the fanciest or most touted ramen shop in West City, but that was precisely why he liked it so much. It was never busy, and the waitress always gave him double pork and didn’t even charge the extra 12 zeni. She never seemed to mind that he didn’t smile or say thank you, and no one talked to him more than was required. No one used his name or acted like he was famous. He could even wear his West City Dragons jersey inside--black and white with a single green stripe across the breast--and no one blinked twice at him.

It was high on the list of his favorite spots in the city. Then the bell chimed and Bulma Briefs walked through the door. Vegeta ducked his head and swore under his breath.

It was suddenly his least favorite spot in the city and he hated her for taking this away from him, too.

Shrugging her bag up her shoulder, Bulma glanced around the shop, and then her loathsome blue eyes widened. He knew it wasn’t coincidence, and though she was the last person in the universe he wanted to be around, she looked absolutely thrilled to have run into him (or to have successfully tracked him down, he suspected). Bulma plopped into the empty booth across him and procured a menu from the table.

“Uh.” The waitress who always served Vegeta the extra pork paused at their table and frowned at Bulma. “Hi.”

Either ignoring the other woman’s radiating hate or just not noticing it, Bulma replied, “Hi.”

The waitress turned to Vegeta. “I didn’t know you had a friend.”

The touch of venom in her voice clued Vegeta in that he and the waitress shared an opinion regarding the blue-haired woman.

Bulma laughed. “Oh. We aren’t friends.”

“Tonkotsu ramen,” Vegeta ordered. “And she’s not staying.”

“Make that two orders, and yes,” Bulma frowned sternly at him, “I am. We need to talk.”

When the waitress was out of earshot, he asked, “About?”

“Us.”

He balked. “There is no ‘us’.”

Bulma shrugged. “You know what I meant. But technicalities aside, we need to talk about us.”

“No.”

She looked ready to strangle him. Vegeta exhaled through his nose. Good. He wanted to strangle her, too.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t live under a rock,” Bulma started. “And I’m also certain the West City Dragons weren’t thrilled with our headline.”

He grunted. Bulma cocked her head to one side.

“I don’t care.”

“Really? ‘Cause you seem upset. I mean, you always seem upset, but this seems personal.” Bulma grinned. “What? You bang famous women in elevators often or something?”

Vegeta would have rather been anywhere in the universe at that moment. Anywhere. And just that morning he’d been trapped in a locker room conversation with Raditz and Yajirobe about the pros and cons of manscaping.

But Bulma was looking at him, her face lit in amusement, her blue eyes all big and sparkly. That might’ve worked on him last night in a rare moment of weakness and disorient, but today with his head clear and mind sober, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever liked someone less.

“Or something.”

The waitress came by and set their meals on the table. Even though he didn’t see it, there was a slight smile tossed Vegeta’s direction. Bulma asked for a glass of water, and the waitress quickly left them. Trying his hardest to pretend he was still alone at the table, Vegeta kept his eyes down. After a few blissful moment of silence, Bulma said, “Tell me about Goku.”

“No.”

She exhaled. “I figured you’re his teammate. You ought to know him, right?”

More silence. Bulma fought the urge to reach across the table and throttle him. She’d given it up on an elevator to this prick, and now she wasn’t sure how she’d manage a single polite conversation over dinner.

She twirled a noodle around her chopstick for a few moments until the silence became too much.

“Last night you said he was nice. Is that true?”

This time Vegeta glanced up at her, glared, before returning any and all focus to his meal.

“I hear he’s the star of the team. Not only the most popular player on the West City Dragons, but the most skilled player in the entire league.”

At this, Vegeta stiffened.

Bulma grinned. Sensing she’d struck a nerve, she continued, “It probably helps that he’s so tall. Those extra inches really give him the advantage.” He was fuming now. “So, besides him being a better rugby player than you, tell me something about him.”

“He might be more of a fan favorite than me, but he is  _ not _ a better athlete.”

“Well, he’s the one selling sneakers and sub sandwiches…”

“Feh. He’s an idiot who will endorse anything.” Vegeta stabbed at his pork. “I don't care about the fame.”

Bulma smiled and he felt it, the genuineness of it right to his toes. He hated her.

“Okay.” She leaned across the table, trying to make eye contact. “Say I believe you. You’re the best out there fighting for that ball or whatever--I don’t know, I don’t follow sports. But besides being good at rugby, what else?”

“Else?”

“About Goku. Is he a decent guy? Honest, dependable?” She bit her lower lip. “How’s he treated his exes?”

Vegeta made a face, and the wench kept going.

“Is he a selfish lover?”

“Seven hells woman, stop talking to me this instant!”

Bulma laughed. “I’ll take that as a maybe?”

“He’s… idiotic. Loyal.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “A decent fighter.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. This wasn’t exactly the kind of dirt she’d been hoping to dig up on the first guy her roommate had crushed on in their ten years of friendship.

“What?” Vegeta was staring into his bowl. “You want to date him?” And he might’ve hated her, but he wasn’t sure how the idea that she might like Kakarot was supposed to make him feel.

“No!” Bulma stuck out her tongue like the thought was revolting. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Chichi likes him, and Chichi never likes anyone. Like literally, ever. And she’s got it bad for Goku, so I want to make sure he deserves her.”

Vegeta shrugged. “He’s fine. If you can look past his personality.”

Bulma smiled. "Guys like Goku are tricky. They seem so... nice. See, guys like you insult you to your face, so you don’t have to guess at if they’re hiding something or not putting it all out there.”

She was, unsurprisingly, met with silence.

“Has Goku been with lots of girls?”

Vegeta shrugged. “Never asked him.”

“Has he brought any around? Do you think Chichi might be his type?”

He was torn between ignoring her and just telling her something to make her go away. His bowl was empty and the waitress was on the opposite side of the restaurant. He sighed.

“He was going on about her cake today after practice.”

A grin encompassed Bulma’s features, stretching her pink lips and lighting up her blue eyes.  “Good!”

“And I don’t think I’ve ever heard him mention a girl, and I don’t make it a habit of hanging out with my teammates, but I can’t recall him bringing one to anything before. His brother’s the more… promiscuous one.”

“Good. ‘Cause Chichi’s a virgin.”

He flushed and slammed his wallet on the table. “I am done with this conversation.”

Bulma’s eyes brightened. “Are you blushing because I said the word ‘virgin’? We’re adults. I can say virgin.”

He glared at the waitress from across the room, hoping she’d read his mind and come over. She was busy frowning at her nails.

Leaning forward, fully aware of what the combination of doing so and tucking her hands under her breasts in this shirt did, Bulma lowered her voice and said, “I know for a fact  _ you’re _ not a virgin, Vegeta.”

“What is the purpose of this conversation?”

“Oh.” She gave an innocently timed blink and straightened her posture. “I had an idea!”

“An idea?”

“Yeah.” She nodded her head, once. “Do you want to date me?”

He stared at her for a long moment, letting the words sink in, hoping to make some sense of them because, on the surface, none was forthcoming.

Bulma raised her hands in mock-surrender and laughed. “Not for real, of course, but for the cameras. Just pretend for a bit, so the whole thing from last night blows over.”

He wasn’t sure how dating her would make them having sex become any less interesting to the press. He frowned.

“We can say we’ve been a couple for a bit, that’s why we were ...together, in the elevator. That it wasn’t just some drunken scandal, but that we genuinely like one another. And then, when they lose interest, we’ll be fine--shiny reputations intact and all that.”

Vegeta’s brows narrowed. “It sounds like a waste of my time.”

“Just hear me out.” Bulma sighed. “Hooking up with some professional athlete and having a blurred crotch-shot posted all over the media did some… irreparable damage when it comes to my future at Capsule Corp. And I know it’s bad press for you and the Dragons, too.”

She toyed with her chopsticks, appetite shot, even though she had half a bowl of broth and an entire boiled egg left. “I think if everyone thought you and I were dating, us hooking up in an elevator wouldn’t seem so… damaging.”

“No.”

“Well, it was worth a shot.” Getting to her feet, Bulma shrugged her bag over her shoulder and shot Vegeta a wink. “Thanks for dinner.”

Then she was practically sprinting out of the ramen shop before Vegeta could yell at her. As surly as he was, she found it oddly entertaining to poke the bear.

 

………..

 

Emerging from the shower, Vegeta toweled off his damp hair. The steam hovered around his calves, and though the hot water had done wonders on his aching legs, he still felt the stretch of overworked muscles when he walked. He was going to be sore tomorrow.

“Vegeta,” Krillin called. Vegeta grunted. Having another conversation about his character and place on the team was the last thing he wanted. He wanted a quiet dinner in his home, alone, with no one talking at him or bothering him or cluttering his orderly life. He wanted to workout and play rugby and not deal with the rest of this shit.

But he followed Krillin into the office and closed the door behind him.

“I know you don’t want to hear it--”

“Then don’t say it.”

Krillin crossed his arms. “That’s not how this works, Vegeta. We’re a family team. Without people buying tickets and merchandise, without sponsors endorsing us, we won’t make it.”

“They need me to play rugby, not be a role model.”

“Vegeta. This is serious. The team owner called,” Krillin paused. “He wanted me to remind you that you’re good, but you’re not irreplaceable. And for starters, they want me to show I’m serious by having you sit out for the first game of the season.”

  
His pulse spiked. He couldn’t stomach watching a game from the sidelines. They needed him if they had any chance at winning, and he needed to play. He couldn’t just sit there, useless but to watch. Vegeta’s head was spinning. Surely there was something he could do to patch up his tarnished reputation. He was a strategist first, but his mind was reeling. A public statement about his character, perhaps, or slipping a lie to the tabloids that it was all a mistake. Maybe getting Raditz drunk in a public place to create a new scandal to ease his error, or...

Fists clenched at his sides, Vegeta spat through clenched teeth, “What if the Briefs woman and I were an item.”

 

…………….

 

She held her mug between her hands, the coffee heating up the porcelain cup and her chilly fingers in the process. They kept the university labs at borderline frigid temperatures, even in the summer, and Bulma always neglected to dress accordingly.

“Show me again,” Bulma said, blowing at the surface of her steaming coffee. Her labmate nodded and clicked through the blueprints, pausing at the calculations she was unsure about. When in doubt, ask Bulma Briefs.

After so many years at the university’s research labs, Bulma’s celebrity status had lost its novelty and she’d thankfully been able to slip into a comfortable role of researcher and friend alongside her coworkers.

She gave Misha a couple notes, and then walked over to her desk. She plopped into her lab chair and sighed. Removing her notes from the locked drawer, Bulma set to work. Her eyes strained and she cursed herself for not getting more sleep.

It’d been a stressful couple of days.

Bulma rubbed her eyes, and when she opened them again her phone was going off.

“Uh, hello?”

“Bulma.” Vegeta’s gruff voice spoke her name, and she wasn’t sure if he’d ever said it aloud. She smiled and leaned back in her chair.

“How’d you get this number?”

“I have my ways.” There was a long pause, and she could hear him exhale into the mouthpiece. “So. This dating thing…”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s meet tomorrow at the West City Dragons’ practice facilities. I’ll bring my team manager. You can bring someone in PR from your company, if you want. We can discuss the terms.”

Bulma laughed. “Are you asking me out?”

There was a low, barely audible grunt, and then he hung up on her. She grinned at her phone.  
  
“ _ So _ romantic.”


	4. The One With the Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this was my entry to the Vegebulocracy's Big Bang challenge, I was lucky enough to be paired with TWO amazingly talented artists. Thanks a million to **Great Rage Short Legs** for the beautiful cover (seriously!! look at it!!) and **sanzosin** for the amazing sketches that give me all the feels. I sent them drafts of this story as I wrote, and they each spoiled me with art. I'll figure out how to embed images in AO3 eventually, but for now, CHECK THESE BEAUTIES OUT:
> 
> https://greatrageshortlegs.tumblr.com/post/181183858660/i-made-this-cover-art-for-the-amazing-fic-fake-it
> 
> http://sanzosin.tumblr.com/post/181205752365/my-entry-for-vegebul-big-bang-vegebulocracy

 

It was the least professional thought to have ever crossed his mind--but  _ jeez _ the PR rep from Capsule Corps. was pretty.

Krillin shook his head, hoping he wasn’t flushing and really, really hoping that his palm wasn’t sweaty as the tall, stone-faced blonde reached for a shake. Her hand was cool and her grip firm. She didn’t give off particularly friendly vibes, but there was an air of mystery about her that made him want to know more…  
  
And then, remembering he was in a meeting to discuss how to improve the public reputation of one of the most skilled but most socially antagonizing players he’d ever had on his roster, Krillin cleared his throat and took at seat at the table.

It was a large rectangle, but the four members of the room all sat closeby. He and Vegeta on one side, and Bulma Briefs and her PR representative--

“I’m 18 Gero, the PR rep for Capsule Corp. And even though Bulma isn’t currently an employee, the Briefs family is still very entangled in the public’s perception of the company.”

\--18 Gero on the other. Krillin nodded his head, just once, and tried to keep his smile professional. He really wasn’t one to lose his cool just because a pretty girl was sat across from him. Bulma was a pretty girl, too, but she wasn’t driving him crazy. And besides, he was engaged.

“Yes. While I don’t intend to say that we’re happy for the bind you’re in, we are glad that this conversation is mutually beneficial.” Krillin uncapped a pen and let the point hover above the yellow legal paper. Even if he had nothing to write, he was prepared. It made him feel more professional, at least.

“So,” Bulma practically groaned. “Can we skip the formalities and just get this over with?”

Vegeta seemed to relax at his side--and not for the first time since he’d met Bulma, Krillin thought they’d make a great pair. Bulma exhaled, her cheeks puffing, and Vegeta glared at her. On second thought, maybe they’d kill one another first.

18’s voice was cool as she said, “The arrangement Ms. Briefs is referring to is the proposition that she and Vegeta engage in a fake relationship to appease the public.”

“Can’t you two just make a statement that we’re a couple, and we be done with this?” Vegeta crossed his arms, his glare never straying from Bulma. She didn’t look much happier to be there, but she at least didn’t seem to want to murder Krillin, for which he was happy for.

“Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple. We will make an official statement that you’re engaged in a new relationship, and the excitement and newness of things caused you to use poor judgement--”

“No,” Bulma interrupted him. “I’m not apologizing or saying anything of the sort. Frankly, who I sleep with isn’t any of their damn business.”

“Okay. Then we won’t apologize or say that you exercised poor judgement, then.” Krillin locked eyes with 18 across the table, and she shrugged a single shoulder. “We’ll say that you’re newly dating and that you’d like to keep things as private as possible.”

“Which is fine,” 18 added, her glare cutting from Bulma to Vegeta and back to Bulma again. “But to soften your sex scandal, you’ll need to be seen in public here and there. A couple dates, a few team functions. Then you’ll be remembered for having a cute relationship, not drunken intercourse in a public building.”

To her credit, Bulma didn’t flush. She only sighed like she’d rather not be bothered with the whole thing. Vegeta, however, sported a splattering of red across the bridge of his nose.

“For how long do we need to date, then?” Bulma asked. Krillin couldn’t blame her, really. He couldn’t imagine having to go on a date with someone like Vegeta. Even though Vegeta had played for the West City Dragons for two seasons now, Krillin had been on the receiving end of maybe 100 words, and none of them particularly nice.

“Six months,” 18 replied.

“One,” Vegeta said, at the same time Bulma said, “Three.”

Then the blue haired woman squinted across the table at her soon-to-be-fake-boyfriend and nodded. “I take mine back, ‘cause I like his better. One month.”

“Six,” 18 repeated. ”Anything shorter seems like a fling.”

Krillin sighed. She was right, of course, but she could’ve told the pair to go to the moon and he’d find himself agreeing with her. And maybe he was bitter and conditioned to expecting horrible things in situations like these, but Krillin was surprised when nothing ended up on fire. In fact, while Vegeta continued to show nothing but the usual boredom and contempt for everything around him, he agreed to the terms. And Bulma, who looked ready to shout at all three of them for being there (even though Krillin  _ knew _ this had been her idea) shook on the terms with barely a grumble.

“Then I’ll make an official statement for Bulma about their relationship, and in about three days you two will need to be spotted somewhere public.” 18 gathered her papers and tapped them into uniformity against the surface of the table. “Maybe go out somewhere together. And even though you want to be photographed, act like you don’t.”

“I won’t be acting,” Vegeta muttered.

Bulma smiled with her teeth. “I’m surprised anyone would want a photo of your ugly mug anyway.”

“You seemed fine with my ‘ugly mug’ three nights ago.”

She narrowed her brows. “I was very drunk.”

“Hmph.” He rose to his feet and started towards the door. “So was I, thanks to you.”

And while Vegeta stomped out the door and Bulma grabbed her purse and nearly chunked it after him, Krillin smiled and 18 and said, “I think this went well. They’ll do fine.”

“This is a horrible idea and it’s going to be a shit show.” 18 shoved her papers into her briefcase and didn’t bother to look at him as she said, “But it’s better than doing nothing, I suppose.”

She wasn’t an optimist, then, but Krillin could send positive vibes out into the universe for the both of them.

 

…………………….

 

He opened the door and the little bells above it chimed, alerting all the patrons inside the bakery of his arrival. Truthfully, he’d chosen to drop by in what he hoped was an off-time so there wouldn’t be any customers, but a pair of older women were chatting in one corner, sharing a fat slice of cake, and a man was sipping coffee and reading the  _ West City Gazette _ by the front window.

Goku paused and let the door shut behind him. On the other side of the counter, Chichi lifted her face and opened her mouth, probably to say some generic greeting, but the moment her eyes landed on him her face reddened.

He couldn’t help but grin. There was a speck of flour on her cheek. For some reason, he wanted to lean in and dust it off with the back of his hand. Maybe see if she smelled like vanilla just as she had the other night.

“Hey!” Her grin was wide, happy, even if she was still flushed.

“I told you I’d come by.” He laughed. “I wanted to drop by yesterday but practice ran late.”

Chichi wiped her hands on her apron. She could see that he’d rushed by after practice, his hair still damp from a shower. “Would you like some cake?”

“Yes, please! One of each.”

With a small laugh, she cut him off a trio of slices, and Goku tried to keep from salivating.

“I will let you know that I didn’t open this morning, so I can’t take credit for today’s slices.”

“Oh.” His face fell. “Does that mean you’re closing today?”

“Yes. Well, we close shop at six and then I do prep for tomorrow. But…” She swallowed, not wanting to get ahead of herself. “Busy evening?”

“Not really.” He placed one of his big hands behind his head. He wore a black t-shirt with the West City Dragons logo stretched on the front. It was difficult for a six-foot-something, solid, professional rugby player to look sheepish, but he managed.

Goku took the box of cake to go, kicking himself for not ordering it for there. He made friends with any and everyone he crossed paths with, but he’d never really made it a point to be more than friends with anyone before. He’d had a couple relationships with girls who’d brought the idea up, but the ball had never really been in his court.

If only he could go back in time to when Chichi’d asked him out and take his refusal back. All of the things he’d said then were true, of course. He was busy. His job was demanding. He didn’t have the time to devote to her that she deserved.

But six slices of cake and one amazing evening of sharing stories about her kickboxing days and his martial arts training, of laughing about nothing, and he kind of wanted to try.

He took the box of cake with a smile bordering on nervous and turned to leave. A few steps from the door and the little bells hanging above it seemed to taunt him--sounding suspiciously like his teammates. Goku closed his eyes, tight.

Forgetting to turn around, he said, “Would you like to have dinner tonight? After you get off?”

The man sipping his coffee by the window glanced up from his paper, thinking Goku might’ve been talking to him. Goku opened his eyes and turned around. Chichi was staring at him, her lips parted and eyes wide.

He grinned; it wasn’t really a good feeling, having his heart pounding blood through his ears, and it seemed to take an eternity for Chichi to tip her head to one side, laugh and say, “Yes! Of course! I’d love to.”

 

………………...

 

She craned her neck to look out onto the street below.

A motorcycle buzzed passed, and she chewed on her lip a moment before asking, “Do you think Vegeta’s a motorcycle guy?” Bulma glanced down at her denim shorts and scalloped yellow tank top. Krillin had set up their first outing as a couple, and all he’d told her was to dress casual. “I should probably change if I’m hopping on a motorcycle, yeah?”

Chichi shrugged without glancing up from her novel.

Bulma replied to her own question, “No. He wouldn’t drive a motorcycle. It’s probably a violation of the team’s contract provisions.”

“Bulma.” Chichi’s eyes were still glued to the pages of her book. “Relax.” 

She watched the motorcycle continue past her building, and her suspicions were confirmed. Then a car whipped into one of the open spaces in front of the tower and came to a jerking stop.

“Oh! Shiny black sports car. That’s probably a fit.”

Before Chichi could decide whether or not to reply, Bulma’s phone buzzed. The text from Vegeta was a total of two words:  _ I’m here _ .

She rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. “I guess he’s not coming up.”

“Aw. I wanted to remind him to have you home by ten and freak him out with questions regarding his intentions with you!” Chichi said, and she actually looked a touch disappointed.

Bulma grinned. “You’re like the over-protective parent I never had. Now, wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it. You photograph great in yellow.”

“I photograph great in everything.”

Chichi lifted her book infront of her face. “Enjoy your fake-date.”

Bulma took the elevator down to the lobby, and the doorman opened the door, flashing her a thumbs up. She laughed as she entered the balmy afternoon. It was a strange time for a date--after lunch but too early for dinner. Maybe they were getting drinks, perhaps?

Opening the passenger side door of the sleek black car, she grinned at Vegeta.

“Sweet ride.” She winked and slid inside, her bare thighs warm against the dark leather. It was a new CC model and quite expensive, but what impressed her more was how immaculate it was. No speck of dust on the dashboard, not a single discarded burger wrapper balled on the floor, and zero half-empty cold pressed juice cups crowding any of the cupholders. “Did you just buy this thing?”

He looked confused by her opening statement.

“No. I’ve had it about a year.”

“Oh.” And then it clicked. “You’re very tidy.”

“Krillin only texted me the address to your apartment. I don’t know where we’re going.”

Bulma opened her mouth to let him know that she hadn’t a clue either--were they supposed to decide themselves?--but then her phone buzzed. Krillin had texted her an address and nothing else.

“Your manager is needlessly cryptic.”

Vegeta harrumphed. “He thinks he’s hilarious.”

Bulma clicked the address and let her phone’s audio lead the way. “Thanks for doing this, by the way.”

“Taking my fake-girlfriend out?”

She grinned at the strangeness of it all. All the time she’d spent tapping at dating apps and wanting to find a good guy, and here she was--stuck with an antisocial, famous, grumpy (built, sexy, smolder-y) guy who seemed to hate her guts. Suddenly, she realized that fake-dating him meant she couldn’t go on any awful-but-actually-real first dates. Which was kind of a relief.

“No,” she said after a moment. “For agreeing to all this in the first place. You don’t really strike me as the kind to go out of your way to appease others.”

“I’m not.” His grip tightened around the steering wheel. “All I want to do is play rugby, and if this is the only way to keep doing that…”

“Yeah. I understand.” Bulma stared at her freshly painted nails. “If I don’t pretend we’re a couple there’s a chance I’ll never take over my dad’s company. Which is strange, because I’m not even positive that I  _ want _ to run Capsule Corps. But it seems ridiculous that this is the only way to keep the option on the table.”

Realizing she was rambling, Bulma pressed her lips together. They spent the rest of the drive in comfortable silence. Given how awkward the arrangement was, she didn’t feel out of place in his company. Vegeta didn’t seem to want for a lot, and didn’t demand anything from her in return. It was kind of refreshing.

With a turn, Vegeta pulled into a parking lot and blinked. Bulma looked out onto bays of people chipping golf balls onto an expansive green.

“That idiot sent us golfing?”   
  
Bulma shifted against the leather seat to get a better look. “Oh! I’ve heard of this place. It’s more like a fancy driving range with targets. Lighten up!” She slapped his bicep, and he glared at her. “I know ‘fun’ is a concept foreign to you, but try.”

As Vegeta parked the car, Bulma sighed in relief. She figured they were going to have to sit and look at one another across from a table, so she was thankful Krillin had picked something entertaining. Something that would keep them busy so the fact that they didn’t, in fact, like one another wasn’t so obvious.

Their bay was reserved and their microchipped balls already waiting. A perky girl with violet hair and big, green eyes greeted them with a wave.

“It’s not too complicated. Just scan you ball here,” she pointed to a spot below the display screen, “and then you’re good to tee off. The system will keep track of your ball if you land it into one of those targets on the outfield. Think of it like a dartboard! The closer you get your ball to the centre or ‘bullseye’ and the further the distance out on the green it is, the more points you get!”  
  
“Seems simple enough , ” Bulma said at the same time Vegeta scoffed .  “We can figure out the rest of the mechanics on our own.”

Not phased by his tone, the Score Golf employee giggled. “Awesome! And please, press the call button at any point if you’d like to order some food or drinks. We’re all super stoked about our new sponsorship for the West City Dragons! Our manager here hopes the exposure will help open Central and East City locations!”

Bulma watched her go. “Well, she certainly  _ seems _ super stoked.”

Vegeta grunted. “Krillin just sent us here to rub it in my face that we need sponsors.”

“Or he thought it would be fun,” Bulma replied, and she walked across the bay and plucked a ball from the bucket. The scanner gave a little ping, and her name showed up on the screen, and then she set it on the tee, jerked her club back, and whacked the ball with as much force as she could muster.

It sailed straight into the air before immediately plummeting back to earth. With a solid plop, it smacked into the ground ten, maybe fifteen feet from their bay, gave a roll and fell into the closest target.

Bulma bit her lip as the screen said she’d scored two points. There was a little digital firework show and everything. Utterly humiliated, she resisted the urge to smack the smug look off Vegeta’s face with her driver, and instead sat on one of the plush, outdoor couches with a huff.

A cocksure gait in his step, Vegeta snatched a ball and scanned it--his golfclub resting on one of his solid shoulders. Then he balanced the golf ball on the tee, wound up, and  _ twack _ \--the little white ball sped through the air. It flew over the green and soared past the round targets.

Bulma tossed her head back and laughed. “You hit it too hard! You missed all the targets and got zero points!”

His face was stone. “This is bullshit.”

“Nope.” She winked and flounced over to the bucket of balls. “That’s the taste of defeat, buddy.”

“This isn’t over yet,” he growled. But Bulma was smart and spent the remainder of her shots tapping the ball to the closest target, steadily clenching her victory to the tune of two points per round.

“Wow. Who’d’ve thought a famous athlete like you lacked the precision to hit a single ten-foot-in-radius target?” Bulma joked, and then she pressed the button to call the waitress over. This was fun, and she wanted to celebrate.

Vegeta gripped his club in both hands and quite possibly possessed the strength to bend it in half. Bulma’s eyes widened as she watched his face twist with pure, unadulterated rage.

“I do not lack precision! They’re just too close for my strength! I’m simply not weak enough to hit any of these inferior targets.”

“Mm-hm.” Bulma drummed her fingers on the table. “Seems like you could just not hit the ball so hard.”

Before he could snap a reply, the waitress popped her head into their private bay and beamed.

“Hey! What can I get’cha?”

“A beer, please.”

The waitresses eyes were wide with awe and focused on Vegeta. “And?”

“A water.” He inclined his head to where Bulma sat perched on a barstool and glared. “I’m not drinking with you again.”

“Two beers,” Bulma supplied.

“I told you--!”

“Relax,” she interrupted. “They’re both for me.”

By the end of their game, Vegeta was shaking with rage, and so Bulma suggested they order food. Once pile of hot wings, a tray of sliders, carton of fries, pizza, and a tray of cinnamon donut holes were placed in front of him, Vegeta seemed in brighter spirits. She grinned, tucking the knowledge away for future use. Who knew when she’d need to tap down on her fake-boyfriend’s temper.

“So, you like rugby more than golf I’m guessing because you’re better at it.”

“And because I get to hit people,” he replied conversationally.

Bulma smiled at her pizza crust. “Makes sense. And you don’t have to show any reserve to win.” There was a pause. Bulma was full, but she wanted to try one of the cinnamon donuts. She picked one off the plate and cinnamon sugar coated her fingers. “So, besides rugby, what do you do?”

He looked at her.

“Like, for fun?”

Vegeta paused and looked like it took a great deal of thought before replying, “I work out.”

She laughed, then frowned. “Oh. You’re serious.”

“I don’t have time for anything else.”

“You don’t have any hobbies or talents?” she asked, one of her blue brows lifting in question.

“No. I don’t.” He set down a wing and asked, “Do you have any ‘hobbies or talents’?”

Bulma winked. “I have many talents.”

There was a bit of red on his cheeks, and he quickly dropped his head and went back to eating wings, and Bulma’s eyes widened. He was being a prude with her, even after what they’d done!

It was almost endearing. He was this strong, aloof bad-ass of a man, and she brought up a sexual innuendo, and he was flushing like a grade schooler. Huh. She cocked her head to one side, studying him, trying to figure him out. He was angry, that much was for sure, but there was also this aura of self-imposed loneliness surrounding him--this serious, almost martyrdom complex hanging about his head.

Maybe she wasn’t being fair. Truthfully, she didn’t know him very well. But she had loads of time to get there.

“Quit staring at me,” he grunted, tossing a chicken bone onto his plate.

Bulma popped her index finger in her mouth and sucked the cinnamon sugar off the digit before removing it, slowly, from between her puckered lips.

And lo and behold, there it was again--the blush on his cheeks. This time, she grinned.  
  
Later that evening, they walked to the car and Vegeta grabbed her hand. His palm was big and rough and warm.

It was so out of place that Bulma stiffened and looked up at him, her eyes wide, but he simply inclined his head to the opposite corner of the parking lot and she caught on. There was a flash, and then another, and she squeezed his hand as they continued toward his car.

As Vegeta drove her back to her apartment, he didn’t fill the space of his car with any meaningless conversation. She listened to his too-quiet music and watched West City pass by, and she decided it wasn’t the worst first date she’d ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a date to Top Golf with my husband who said he was "too good at golf" and kept hitting the ball too far as an excuse for why he was losing to me.
> 
> 95% of the time, he is very much a Goku. But his attitude then reminded me of Vegeta and thus this chapter wrote itself. :P


	5. The One with a Confession

Vegeta was towling his hair dry when Krillin popped his bald head into the locker room and said, “Come see me in my office when you’re done,” and nothing else before leaving with the slam of a door.

Goku was smiling like an idiot at his phone screen, but Tien and Raditz wore matching curious expressions. Vegeta shrugged. His defense had been a little shoddy at practice that afternoon, sure, but yesterday was leg day, and he’d probably pushed himself a bit too hard. Again. It was nothing a good meal and night’s sleep couldn’t fix. He’d be back at 100% tomorrow.

When he was dressed, he entered Krillin’s office with his hair still damp. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted to sit down. His calf muscles were screaming at him. But he ground his teeth and pushed through it. He wouldn’t show Krillin an ounce of weakness.

“Vegeta!” Krillin said happily, and Vegeta was immediately aware that he wasn’t going to have his form from practice be picked apart. No, this meeting was worse. Krillin wanted to praise him.

The team manager slid a tabloid across the table, and Vegeta glared down at its cover. There was Bulma with her bright blue hair and bright yellow tank top and their fingers were laced together. His old teammates on the North City Freeze were probably rolling. He looked like an idiot.

“This is great!” Krillin laughed. “You should read this article, Vegeta. It goes on about how your ‘bad boy vibes’ must’ve charmed the pure princess and snagged her heart. It reads like a fairy tale, much better than the elevator version.”

Vegeta snorted. Anyone who wrote that Bulma was a pure princess had obviously never spent a second in her company. Bulma was… loud. She never dumbed anything down, and she was as bold as she was unapologetic. She showed up with all her cards on the table, and he kind of liked that about her. Respected her, really, even though she didn’t seem to give a damn if anyone liked her or not. She was a lot of things, but  _ pure _ didn’t breach the list.

But she talked too much and kept sticking her nose in his life. Fake girlfriend or no, he needed space. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and when he retrieved it, Bulma’s winking face blinked on the screen.

Krillin grinned. “That’s a nice touch!”

He stilled. Had she broken into his phone? Figured out his passcode?

“What?!” he snapped, answering the phone and storming out of Krillin’s office. Putting as much distance between himself and the magazine on the manager’s desk.

“That’s no way to speak to your brilliant, beautiful girlfriend.” He could practically feel her shiteating grin. 

“Sham of a girlfriend.” His jaw tightened. “Why is there a photo of you when you call?”

“Oh, that!” She laughed. “You have a CC model phone, Vegeta. I have access to everyone’s settings and I might’ve changed some of yours. Did you have the volume on? I gave myself a special ringtone.”

“Blasted woman!”

Maybe she was brilliant, but she was also ridiculous and frustrating.

Changing the subject, she asked, “Have you ever had a girlfriend before, Vegeta?”

He was quiet, and she almost teased him before remembering that she’d been in a grand total of one relationship in her entire life. So she cleared her throat and continued, “Anyway. There’s this work thing and I want you to come.”

“No.”

“Okay. Let me rephrase that.” She paused. “There’s this work thing, and I said I was bringing a date. So you’re coming.”

Vegeta unlocked his car. “Fine. Text me the details. Or just hack into my phone and program the coordinates.”

He heard her barking laughter before he hung up on her--calf muscles screaming at him the entire drive home.

 

……………………..

 

Bulma waved to the doorman as she ran through the lobby and outside, where the humid evening air hung heavy and stagnant about the city. Streaks of red caught the sky, and Bulma craned her neck to watch the sunset as she tucked some of her blue hair behind her ears.

When she opened the passenger door, her mouth popped open. Vegeta was sporting a pair of slacks and button-down shirt with a navy blazer.

“It’s just drinks with my coworkers, but everyone bailed, so it’s just us.”

“You made it sound like… nevermind. I thought this was a banquet or something,” he grumbled.

“A banquet? Who has  _ banquets _ , Vegeta?”

“If nothing is happening, why didn’t you call and cancel?” he asked, removing his blazer and folding it neatly over the center console. 

It smelled like new car and Vegeta, and Bulma turned in the seat to better watch him.

“Chichi was texting Goku in her room, and I… was bored,” she admitted.

Vegeta grunted and started up the engine. It purred quietly as he squeezed the gas and started off down the road, even though neither had a plan for where they were going. 

The music was low as he maneuvered the vehicle toward the long, winding road that hugged the bay. City lights silhouetted the harbor as the sun continued on its descent. It was actually really pretty. Bulma decided she could sit there all evening and watch the sunset in Vegeta’s car if he’d let her.

Not usually one to break the silence, Vegeta asked, “So. What is your job?”

“You didn’t run a search on me?” Bulma laughed, and he stared at her like the thought had never occurred to him. “Wow. Yeah, okay. I’m a PhD student at West City University. I have a degree in mechanical engineering, but now I’m focusing more on physics and-- Anyway. I’m a researcher for the university.”

“I majored in kinesiology, but my minor was in physics.”   


“Oh, yeah? Where’d you go?” she asked, like his answer would be a surprise even though she’d definitely run a search on him.

“North City College. Only because I got a scholarship there to play rugby.” His hands tightened around the wheel. “Where am I driving to? I assume you have a plan.”

“Ah… We’re near the pier. Let’s grab dinner.”

He pulled into the first restaurant they came to, and Bulma didn’t complain. She let herself out of his car and paused to look out over the water for a moment, the bottom of her dress catching the breeze like a cotton sail and whipping about her thighs.

When she looked over at him, her eyes big and her smile teasing, he knew she’d caught him staring. He jerked his head toward the restaurant to hide any signs of his embarrassment.

“Hey, I know I’m beautiful. You can’t help but notice,” she teased, bumping her hip into his. He grunted like she was the most disgusting creature he’d ever had the misfortune of interacting with, but she glided past him and told the host waiting outside the restaurant they wanted a table for two.

He was better than everyone because he was stronger, more focused, more dedicated. But Bulma was none of those things, and yet she wore her confidence on her sleeve and, really, he couldn’t blame her. Damn woman  _ was _ kind of pretty.

 

……………….

 

She chewed on her lip nervously and paced back and forth across the living room. Ever so often, she’d glance outside, down to the ground where the lamplight illuminated the featureless people forty floors down. None of them looked like Goku, but after Bulma had left, Chichi had invited him over, and he’d texted back a single word:

_ Sure _ .

Chichi had quickly changed out of her fuzzy pajamas with the little teacups printed all over them and pulled on a red tank top and a pair of black jeans. She’d attempted to fix her long, dark hair but decided to throw it in a messy bun. And then, when she realized she had plenty of time to spare, she’d baked a batch of cookies because Goku was coming over.

To her apartment. She bit down on her lip and the doorbell buzzed.

Reminding herself to not rush to the door like an injured gazelle, Chichi calmly crossed the floor of her apartment and opened the door.

“Hey, Chichi!” Goku greeted, his smile wide and eyes kind. “Wow. It smells great in here.”

“Oh, thanks. The cookies should be ready in a couple minutes.”

“Awesome! I brought a movie,” he said, and proudly lifted an old cheesy-looking kung-fu movie. Chichi grinned. Cookies and a movie sounded great.

As she gave him the tour of her and Bulma’s flat, her hands wrung together nervously and she sighed. Chichi was an honest person, and as new and exciting and awkward as this was, she really felt like this could go somewhere. But she wanted to come clean first.

“Goku, can I make a confession?”

He nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he studied the collage of pictures crowding her and Bulma’s fridge. Photos from their trips and college days. Bulma’s coworkers and Chichi’s pastry school friends.

She cleared her throat. “When I first met you, that day at the bakery when I dropped your cake, I honestly had no idea who you were.”

“Who… I am?” he asked, and damn him for looking so innocent asking.

She sighed. “You know… famous athlete. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Yeah. Right.”

“I didn’t, really. When I asked you out, I just thought you were handsome and nice and endearing.” Goku grinned at her words and opened his mouth, but she silenced him by raising her hand. “That’s why I asked you out that day. Not because I was an obsessed fan or anything, but because I… I liked you.”

Her face felt like a million degrees. Her hands were starting to sweat.

“But then you gave me this practiced line about how you don’t have time to date--”

“I didn’t mean--”

“But then… Then I  _ did _ find out who you were, and I felt like an idiot for not recognizing you sooner. Your face is on two billboards on the way to work.”

“The sneaker ad on 4th street?”

Chichi bit her lip. “No. You eating breakfast cereal on 11th.”

Goku grinned. “That shoot was awesome! I got to take home like 50 boxes of cereal!”

“And, well, after that Bulma got us tickets to the party. So… So I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I feel like I’m, I don’t know, deceiving you or something.”

“Deceiving me?! Whoa, Chichi. Relax.” He lifted his hand, hesitated for a moment, before settling it on her shoulder. Chichi held her breath. “I like you. And all those things I said about not having much time are true, but I like you.”

“Yeah?”

He laughed. “Yeah.”

“Oh…” Her smile hurt her face, but she couldn’t help herself. “Good.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Goku moved his gaze from Chichi to the oven and asked, “Uh. Hey, Chichi? Any chance those cookies are done now?”

“Should be a couple more minutes.” She laughed. “But I’ll check on them. You figure out how to work Bulma’s BluRay player. That thing’s a mystery to me.”

 

……………………….

 

The door to their condo slammed shut and Chichi jumped and did a slow, half-circle to face her roommate. Bulma’s hair was sweaty, the top layer pulled back. She was wearing workout leggings and a tight-fitting tank, and she was sucking iced coffee from a fat straw.

“I’m sorry I missed class!” Chichi blurted. She’d changed from her pajamas, but she’d stayed up far too late curled on the couch with Goku watching a movie to do HIIT training with 18. “I got… caught up in things.”

“Things?” Bulma asked, there was a smile in her tone, but Chichi ignored it. “By things, do you mean Goku. Or, ohmygod, do you mean Goku’s thing? Please tell me you mean Goku’s thing.” 

Chichi was definitely going to ignore  _ that _ .

Bulma pointed her coffee at her friend. It was awfully accusatory for a pink straw. “You didn’t say no!”

“I didn’t say yes.”   
  
“But you want to?” Bulma grinned and clarified, “Sleep with him.”   
  
Chichi looked down at her toes. They were red and shiny and she flexed them while she sighed and admitted, “Yes. I want to sleep with him. Every straight girl and gay male in West City shares that opinion, so it’s not really all that exciting.”   
  
“It is, though! Because he definitely wants to sleep with you.” Bulma sucked some more coffee through her straw, riding the euphoric high of post-exercise and the newfound knowledge of her best friend’s lust.   
  
Chichi sighed. Silence stretched between them. She set back to work making a pot of coffee, and Bulma rested her backside against the counter.   
  
“Vegeta told me ‘Kakarot’ likes your cake.”   
  
Chichi pretended not to be affected by the news.   
  
“I mean, every straight woman and gay male in west city likes your cakes, so…” Bulma teased. And then she was hit in the face with a pack of coffee filters, and laughed.   
  
Chichi swapped on the coffee pot and, instead of watching it percolate and having to talk this through with Bulma, retreated to her bedroom.   
  
A few minutes later, a celebrity chef’s voice filled the silence. Bulma wanted to keep teasing her, but she had to run up to the university to finish a project. So she tossed the package of filters haphazardly onto the counter and went to her room to shower and change her clothes.   
  
The entire walk to campus, Bulma smiled. Chichi was finally going to get some.

  
  
……………….…

  
  
She was standing under the practice facilities marquee, a West City Dragons cap on her head, and Vegeta scowled at her.   
  
“What?” she asked, and then pointed to her hat. “You like it? Krillin sent it to me.”   
  
“Waste of money and resources…”   
  
Bulma laughed and they started walking north down the street. Vegeta’d capsulized his car since he’d come to learn recently that Bulma tended to walk nearly everywhere. Strange, considering she had access to every new vehicle on the market.   
  
Maybe it was part of her act in not being an heiress and just being a university student.   
  
They stopped at a trendy-looking smoothie shop. The guy working behind the counter straightened the second they entered the shop--his eyes wide as he followed Vegeta’s every move.   
  
Vegeta and Bulma placed their orders and the guy working told Vegeta he’d made a ‘good choice,’ as though he needed the praise. Vegeta was well aware it was the best option they offered.   
  
Handing Bulma over her smoothie, the employee paused in giving Vegeta his.   
  
“U-Uh, Mr. Vegeta, sir.” The guy swallowed. There was a bit of blended fruit on his white muscle shirt. His hair was gelled so the spikes swept upwards and gathered to a point, a blush tinged his cheeks. “Enjoy. I’m a big fan. You’re the hardest hitter in the league. We could use more players like you. Guys who aren’t afraid to just… Yeah. Have a good day.”   
  
Vegeta took the smoothie with a frown, and Bulma grinned.   
  
“He has a hard time saying ‘thank you,’ but I can assure you he’s flattered,” Bulma said, and then she closed her hand around the crook of Vegeta’s elbow and led him outside. Her smile was big, and he was trying to decide whether or not it was mocking when he tried his smoothie and made a face.   
  
Bulma laughed. “What? Surprised your super protein powder shake with no chocolate or vanilla or anything delicious is gross?”   
  
He frowned and didn’t reply. Bulma asked, “Don’t you drink a lot of protein shakes as an athlete?”   
  
“Some. But I prefer to get my protein from a food source. Powder is less effective, and not nearly as…”   
  
“Tasty?” Bulma offered.    
  
He shrugged, and she pointed to his cup. “Hey, don’t lecture me. You’re the one who ordered it. I got strawberry banana, and it’s delicious.”   
  
He swallowed a bit more of his smoothie. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, just kind of bland.   
  
“Don’t scowl so much. I only suggested this place because you didn’t want to get ice cream like a normal person,” Bulma explained.   
  
“I can’t get ice cream,” Vegeta grunted. “Practices have ramped up and we have our first game of the season in two weeks. I cannot consume any processed sugars for the next two weeks.”   
  
“No sugar?!” Bulma clutched her smoothie to her chest and looked appalled. “No wonder you’re so grumpy all the time!” And taking a long pull from her straw, Vegeta watched her eyes get that faraway look and her brows narrow slightly in a way he was beginning to understand she was working through something with that supposedly brilliant mind of hers.   
  
“‘It’s weird though. I know for a fact Goku eats like three slices of cake a day.”   
  
“Do not compare me or my discipline to that imbecile.”   
  
Bulma laughed. “Fine, fine. So… you don’t like him?”   
  
Vegeta grunted, like it was the understatement of the century. Bulma took another sip from her cup before asking, “Okay, but why? ‘Cause he’s the team captain and you’re not?” There was no response. So she tried again. “Because he gets all the fame without half the work you put into it?” Vegeta stiffened at her side. Bulma nodded. At least she was getting somewhere.    
  
Another pull from her straw and the cup hissed in protest. She chunked the empty cup into a trash can, and they continued walking down the street. There didn’t seem to be any paparazzi following them, no chance to make a headline, but Bulma found that she didn’t really care. She didn’t text and ask if he wanted to grab some ice cream to get photographed. No. She’d just wanted to hang out with someone.   
  
Chichi was busy with work and Goku, and Vegeta was there. Strong, kind of funny, definitely attractive. Maybe his personality left something to be desired, but…

Bulma shook her head and asked, “Where to next?”

“I’m going home.”

“Sweet.” She grinned at his profile. “I’ll come, too.”

He turned his head, slowly, and frowned at her. He did that a lot. Bulma winked.

“I’m serious, you lughead. I want to see where my superstar athlete of a boyfriend crashes.” And she was bored and curious and, hey, even if they weren’t really dating, it was becoming apparent that she was, at least, starting to consider him a friend.

Vegeta, however, tipped his cup toward the opposite side of the street and barked, “Go stand over there. Your existence is giving me a headache.”

“Ah.” Bulma dropped her head onto his shoulder. He wasn’t much taller than her, and it was simple to rest her head there. Comfortable. “A confession of love.”

“Of all the girls I could’ve gotten wasted and lost my resolve with for an evening…”

“That’s the story I’m going to tell our children someday.” Then she paused, brought a finger to her lips and gave an innocently timed blink. “Oh. Should I go to the other side of the street and shout to you? Say, ’VEGETA, WHEN WE BANGED IN--’”

He shrugged her ear off his shoulder and growled, “Hush, idiot. I live this way.”

They walked in silence, Bulma following him as he took a turn near one of her favorite designer shops and past one of the brunch joints she, Chichi and Whis frequented. It was a nice, quiet spot in the city with less high-rises in favor of four story brownstones.

Vegeta stopped in front of one of the townhomes and fished his keys from his pocket. Bulma took in the tidy white exterior and black shutters. There was a half-dozen or so stairs and a small porch stoop, and Vegeta climbed the stairs with practiced ease and opened the door.

She stepped inside, taking in the open concept of the main floor and all the modern finishes.

Bulma’s lips parted. “Do you  _ live  _ here?”

He suddenly felt embarrassed. Vegeta never had company. His own belongings were meagre, despite his wealth, and he didn’t know what to say, so he hung his key on a hook by the door and slid out of his shoes.

“It’s like a showroom,” Bulma observed.

“It came furnished. I never felt the need to change anything.” He cleared his throat. “Though I did turn one of the bedrooms into a gym.”

Bulma toed off her shoes and gave herself a tour. Peeking into the updated bathrooms, a nearly-empty guest bedroom and the spacious master bedroom. He didn’t have a comforter, just dark sheets, a single pillow and a throw blanket. She bit her lips together and kept going. Up the stairs to a nearly-empty office and personal gym. It was the only room that looked lived in, really, but even that was kept immaculate. All the free weights were lined up by size, the equipment shiny and clean. A treadmill had a white towel hanging neatly off its handles and stationary bike was sat in front of a wall of mirrors.

She grinned when Vegeta came behind her, and she noticed he seemed more than a bit uncomfortable with her poking around.

“This place is nice. Surprising, but nice.” Bulma closed the door to his gym and started back down the stairs. “If you ever come to mine and Chichi’s, give me like forty minutes to clean up. You run a tight ship, Vegeta.”

He didn’t know what she meant by that, so he followed her down the stairs and offered her something to drink.

“Well, I’m guessing you don’t have any soda with the crazy back-to-rugby diet you’re on,” she joked. “But I’ll take a sparkling water if you have any, and tap water if you don’t.”

He opened the fridge and retrieved a can of sparkling water. When he turned around, she was perched on one of his bar stools, staring at him.

And he knew she didn’t need to be here. There was no one taking photos or writing stories to improve their reputations. But he had nothing else to do, and he didn’t mind her company, so he handed her the can and made himself comfortable at her side.

 


	6. The One With the Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL!!
> 
> I got arts! And I figured out how to embed it in the story. Hooray!
> 
> There's a lovely full-color cover posted in the first chapter by the brilliant and talented GreatRageShortLegs, and Sanzosin spoiled me with FIVE sketches from this story. I've put one in chapter 2 and one here. I'll post the others as they become relevant.
> 
> Also, be sure to check out the Vegebulocracy collection this story is in for all the AMAZING Big Bang entries. Completing a story before posting a single chapter here is no joke. Those authors and artists worked hard!

Sometimes the locker room felt a bit cliche for his tastes. Vegeta pulled a shirt over his head and tried to tune out the chatter of his teammates echoing against the tiled walls. Oolong slapped a towel against Yajirobe’s backside--the large man gave a yelp, and his teammates howled with laughter.

“Idiots,” Vegeta mumbled under his breath. The only other member of the West City Dragons who shared in his displeasure was Piccolo--a recent transfer from the Coastal Namekians. He seemed even less amused by the bunch than Vegeta.

Goku laughed and then continued his retelling of Chichi’s banana cake. It was a colorful tale of  tastes similar to that of his grandpa’s banana bread but with the fluffy springiness of angel food cake.

Vegeta hated all of them, most of all Raditz who was recounting his evening at a nightclub and the guy he’d brought home. Tien nodded at all the appropriate pauses, but didn’t have too much to contribute.

Then, Raditz’s cheeky gaze landed on him and Vegeta straightened. Propping a beefy, naked shoulder against a locker, Raditz said, “Yeah. Some of us are still reeling in strange because knock-out billionaires aren’t falling into our laps.”

Bulma hadn’t  _ fallen  _ into his lap, of course. It’d been a tight, black skirt and more whiskey than he’d care to admit… But he took a seat on the bench and started lacing his shoes, trying his best to ignore how the entire team seemed suddenly focused on his every move.

“How did the most anti-social guy on the team snag such a hottie?” Oolong asked, his pig-like face filling Vegeta’s field of vision. Then, as though suddenly remembering that Vegeta was not above socking his own teammates in the nose, Oolong reeled back and smiled sheepishly.

“She might be hotter than Maron,” Tien commented conversationally. “And you definitely don’t have to worry about her just being in it for the fame and fortune.” He chuckled and plopped next to him on the bench. “Lucky bastard.”

“Vegeta is lucky!” Goku added unhelpfully. And even though Vegeta still wished he could tackle them all into the next dimension, it was a bit of an ego boost. “Bulma’s super nice.”

To Kakarot, everyone was nice. Vegeta got to his feet and grunted.

“Hot date?” Raditz joked.

He paused, glanced at his phone, and found a missed text. Fingers tightening around the mobile, he snapped back, “None of you damn business.” Which brought on roars of laughter. And someone, it sounded suspiciously like Oolong, said, “That’s a yes.”

Vegeta decided he’d take it out on the pig-faced idiot at Thursday’s scrimmage. He liked throttling his own teammates nearly as much as he liked cutting down his opponents. But first, his fake girlfriend waited.

 

………….

 

“Bulma I-couldn’t-be-any-fucking-luckier Briefs.”  
  
Bulma glanced up from her calculations and squinted at Melody. Some of her red curls had freed themselves from her ponytail and floated around her ears like a cloud. Bulma blinked, taking a moment to swap from the numbers she’d spent the last twenty minutes staring at, and then sighed.  
  
“What’d I do now?”  
  
Melody slapped a magazine on the tabletop and Bulma expected to see a photo of herself draped across her fake-boyfriend. Instead, it was a female volleyball player in a red bikini.  
  
“Uh…”  
  
“That isn’t Bulma,” Juliet chimed in, jabbing her finger at the magazine. “They’re both hot and famous, but Hazel Collins plays beach volleyball and Bulma, well…” She gestured to Bulma’s cube, littered with empty coffee mugs and scrap paper.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Bulma muttered. And she tossed some of the papers into the recycling bin under her desk. “Rub it in.”  
  
“No way. Melody’s totally right, Bulma. You’re super lucky,” Steph said. She’d sat in the cube next to Bulma for almost two years now, and the two women were often found shutting down the office. With deft fingers, Steph flipped to a page in the center of the magazine to a single-page advertisement spread. And there in muted colors was her boyfriend, Bulma cleared her throat, _fake_ boyfriend, leaned against a wall, wearing nothing but a pair of tight athletic boxer-briefs. A rugby ball held casually in one of his hands.  
  
Her coworkers squealed, and Bulma let her eyes devour the photo--dropping from his jaded expression that she knew wasn’t posed, over his strong shoulders and down his sculpted chest and past his defined abdominals, and lower still--to where the muscles of his lower abs and obliques met in a sculpted ‘V’ and where the waistband of his underwear left the good bits to her imagination.   
  
Bulma exhaled. “Yeah. He picked up a new sponsor. Gets to model athletic underwear now.”  
  
Even though she ought to have been swelling with pride, her chest was tight with something akin to sadness. Her eyes fell back to the photo of Vegeta. What a shame. She’d barely gotten a chance to appreciate him during their drunken quickie, and she could barely recount the feel of his hair between her fingers or the press of hard muscle against her.

With a dramatic sigh, Bulma puffed her cheeks and let her head fall into her cradled hands. Her coworkers were immediately silenced, and after exchanging a few confused looks, Melody patted Bulma’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Briefs. We’re just not really in the mood to feel sorry for ya.”

  
  
………….

  
  
Bulma toed out of her shoes, ready to drop to the couch and take it easy for the evening, only to discover that someone was already making themselves comfortable on her sofa. She grinned.

“Oh, hey there, Goku.”

“Hi’ya Bulma!” he greeted, and damn him for lifting her spirits. She’d wanted to mope, but there was something about Goku’s fierce optimism that just being in the same space made her a bit more cheerful. No wonder Chichi was always walking around, grinning like an idiot these days.

“Are you joining us for dinner?”

Bulma’s eyebrows shot up. “Chichi’s cooking?”

“No,” Chichi snapped from behind her closed bedroom door. “I’ve been on my feet since four am. I’m exhausted.” The door creaked and Chichi stepped out, fashionably and casually dressed. “We’re going out.”

Not quite as good as a homemade meal, but Bulma still grinned. “Awesome. Chichi’s an amazing cook, and when she isn’t up for cooking she knows all the best places ‘cause she knows everyone who’s anyone in the industry.”

Chichi rolled her eyes and rested her weight on the arm of the couch. “Work perks, I guess. So,” her eyes were on Goku. “Anything sound good?”   
  
“Everything sounds good.” And the eager, wide set of his eyes echoed his words. “Except no buffets. I’m on a city-wide banned list for buffets ‘cause I spent six hours at a bbq place once.”   
  
Chichi sighed at her boyf-- Well, he wasn’t her boyfriend, exactly. And maybe he didn’t have to be, officially. They weren't teenagers. Adults didn’t have to go around putting labels on things for no reason. They’d both admitted to liking the other, and Goku didn’t seem the kind to need to spell out exclusivity to. But maybe she should bring it up sometime, just in case.   
  
As much as she put on a brave face when it came to relationships, Chichi wasn’t sure her heart could take being broken by someone like Goku. Someone so strong and kind all at once had the potential to ruin her if she weren’t careful.   
  
Bulma barked in laughter at Goku and shook her head. “You’re a mess.”   
  
“Yeah. Kinda.” He grinned. “So, where’re we eating?”   
  
“The pasta bar on eleventh is having a special tonight, and I’ve been dying to try their new vodka sauce,” Chichi said, straightening on the couch.   
  
“Cool,” Bulma replied. And she was only slightly jealous of the way Goku held open the door for Chichi and watched her walk past like she was the most beautiful and precious thing on the planet. Equal parts jealous and happy, Bulma decided, shoving her feet back into her shoes and racing after the happy couple.

 

………………...

 

By the time the sun had found its zenith, Krillin decided to call for a lunch break. His team members stumbled off the field, their practice uniforms soaked through, their hair wet. He watched, unsurprised, as they all chatted on the way to the locker rooms--all except his most obsessive player.   
  
Vegeta stood, glaring at the tackle dummy, hate radiating in his dark eyes. A bead of sweat rolled from his forehead, catching on one of his high cheekbones before dropping to his clenched jaw. Krillin shook his head as he watched the other man ram into the blue bag with the same reckless abandon he always fought with. Vegeta might’ve been one surly bastard who had a ton to learn about sportsmanship and socialization, but damn could that guy tackle.   
  
Shaking his head, Krillin turned back toward the main building to catch up on his midday emails when he spotted a blue haired woman leaning against the fence. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted into a little surprised ‘o’.   
  
Bulma straightened as she noticed Krillin approaching, and Krillin offered her a kind smile. Her hair might’ve been a similar shade as his fiance's, but there was no mixing up the two women. Bulma always seemed to be thinking, working something out in that impressive brain of hers. And though she held herself to very high esteem, she probably didn’t know how obvious she was being half the time.   
  
“I brought over some lunch,” she explained, her eyes back on Vegeta, who’d returned to the sideline and was shaking out his shoulders. Then, he launched himself forward once more and threw all his weight onto the tackle dummy.   
  
“He rarely takes lunch. Vegeta’s a little…”   
  
“Intense?”   
  
“I was going to say obsessive, but yeah. He’s that, too.” Then Krillin smiled. “It’s nice of you to come by.”   
  
“Oh, yeah. I was distracted at work and I figured I’d pop over. There are usually cameras at the practice facilities, so I’d thought I’d take a moment to prove to be the doting girlfriend.”   
  
Krillin chuckled, and then he turned to Vegeta and called, “Your lunch is here.”   
  
There was no mistaking the disdain in Vegeta’s eyes as he caught the pair chatting by the fence. He stomped over and frowned at Bulma, and though she knew she should’ve felt like muck on the bottom of his cleats being on the receiving end of a look like that, she took it like she took everything--in stride--and grinned. Doing the best impression of her mom, she lifted the takeout bag and grinned. “I brought you a bento.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“‘Cause I figured you were hungry.”   
  
“I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”   
  
She lifted a brow in question. “Are you now? Because it seemed like you were too busy beating the shit out of inanimate objects to bother to refuel.”   
  
He grunted.   
  
“You’ve got a bit of blood on your lip.”   
  
Though he wiped the cut with the back of his head, Vegeta’s eyes never strayed from her.   
  
“Now, come on. It’s beautiful day. Let’s eat outside,” Bulma said, and without waiting for a response, she walked to the edge of the parking lot where rows of little picnic tables sat. She chose one on the end that was close enough to the building that it was covered in shade.   
  
Krillin watched, bemused, as Vegeta followed her over and plopped down across from her.   
  
At the table, Bulma removed a pair of takeout boxes from the paper sack and sat one in front of Vegeta. He opened the lid to reveal pork katsu, rice, salad, sushi, and four fat dumplings. Even though he hadn’t been planning on taking a lunch, his stomach betrayed him by rumbling, and Bulma grinned.   
  
“I figured you were hungry.”   
  
“Why are you here again?”   
  
“I’m bringing you lunch. And, please don’t laugh.”   
  
Vegeta locked eyes with her and flashed a razor-sharp smirk. “I reserve the right to react accordingly.”   
  
She exhaled. “Fine. But I… I was kind of lonely at work. Everyone keeps showing me your underwear ad and, yeah, fine, I’ve hit that and everything, but it doesn’t really feel like it counted, you know?”   
  
His mouth opened and then snapped shut. His dark brows lowered and he looked lost in her words for a moment before deciding on being neither disgusted nor upset, and instead, settled with asking, “ What is wrong with you?”   
  
Bulma shrugged. “My parents over-supported me as a child, showered me with compliments. Really built my confidence. Plus, it helps that I’m an actual genius, and have you  _ seen _ me?”   
  
He had, unfortunately. His eyes dropped to her snug, white top and then he quickly looked away.   
  
“You’re frustrating.”   
  
Bulma laughed and opened her bento. “Right back atch’a, buddy.”

art by Sanzosin  



	7. The One with the Season Opener

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and Bulma was tapping away at her laptop, readying her presentation for her research project. The theories were all there in her head, but getting it all out in writing was another thing entirely.   
  
With a dramatic sigh, she flopped back onto the pillow and covered her eyes with her arm. The door to her apartment clicked, and she leapt to attention. Chichi had Sunday and Mondays off from the bakery, and used one of those days off to bake blueberry muffins and make it to 8 am kickboxing. Bulma thought she was insane, but then again, she kind of regretted not getting out of her pajamas.   
  
Kind of.   
  
Chichi tossed open the door and frowned at her roommate. “What are you doing?”

“Ah… Working?” She wasn’t quite sure why she’d phrased it as a question. Probably because she hadn’t gotten all that much work done and wasn’t entirely sure what she  _ had _ been doing.

“I figured you’d be dressed and ready,” Chichi replied. And then she peeled her sweaty jogger off and sat on the floor to unlace her sneakers. “I wanted to get there by eleven, but I’m running late.”

Bulma blinked. “Late for…?”

Chichi got to her feet, workout trainers dangling from her fingers. “The rugby game. Season opener.”

“You’re going to that?!” Bulma laughed.

“You’re  _ not _ ?”

“Uh, no.” Bulma made herself comfortable, wiggling down into the sofa and stared at her mostly-empty word document. “We don’t like rugby.”

“We like our boyfriends,” Chichi replied, and then immediately regretted it. Her face aflame, she lifted her hands in defense before Bulmas smiling face could come into view. “Goku’s not my boyfriend. That is, I… like him. He likes me. Krillin sent me over a ticket to sit in the front where seats are reserved for the team’s friends and family. We’re… friends and family.”

Bulma just chuckled and decided to ignore all of that. She shook her head and closed her laptop. “Your boyfriend…”

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well, Vegeta’s not really mine, either.” Her eyes drifted to the counter where the tickets sat. “But at least you  _ like _ your not-boyfriend.”

Chichi started toward her room, lifting her voice to continue their conversation. “You should come. It’ll look bad if you’re not there. Plus, I don’t want to be sitting all by myself.”

Before disappearing behind the door, Chichi’s eyes darkened, and she pointed an accusatory finger at her roommate. “I’m taking a shower and getting dressed. If you’re not ready, I’m leaving without you.”

With barely a grumble, Bulma tucked her laptop back into her bag. If she were being completely honest with herself, she was not all that disappointed in her lack of progress. Then she got to her feet and raced to her room, threw open her closet door and frowned. Unsurprisingly, she had no West City Dragons merchandise apart from the hat she’d gotten from Krillin, and she’d left at work.

“Shit…” she mumbled to the vibrant pantone of fabric.

And then Bulma pulled on her shoes and was out the door, jabbing her finger at the elevator button and taking it down a floor. With quick, purposeful steps, she raced across the carpeted hallway and stopped in front of a door. Lifting her fist, she gave two short knocks and did what she did best--didn’t second guess herself.

The boy that answered the door peered up at her with dark, jaded eyes. A single swooping bang fell across his forehead, and his gaze didn’t shift as he took in his upstairs neighbor.

“Oh. Ms. Bulma.”

“Don’t call me ‘Ms’! I’m not that old,” Bulma replied.

The boy shifted on his feet. He’d house-sat for the women when they’d gone out of town. Watered their plants, checked up on things. But he couldn’t think of a reason for Bulma to come barreling down the hallway so early on a Sunday in her pajamas.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then finally settled on, “Okay… Bulma.”

“Better.” She grinned, showing lots of teeth, and Cabba fidgeted some more.

“Uh. So. What can I do for you?”

She had a response at the ready. “I need to borrow some of your clothes.”

Taking a step back, Cabba pondered whether his eccentric neighbor might, in fact, be a crazy person. There was a frown playing across his features, and Bulma exhaled dramatically and explained, “I know you have like eleven West City Dragons’ t-shirts and jerseys and all that stuff.” She batted her eyes, fully conscious of the fact that she was playing up the sex appeal to a 16-year-old and also realizing that she should, probably, feel guiltier about it. But she’d never been one to shy from her feminine wiles, and Cabba, not one to be taken advantage of by anyone--pretty, upstairs neighbors included--sized her up.

“And what about me?”

“You?! Are you  _ bribing _ me?” Bulma’s voice was only a few decibels shy of shouting. Her sexy expression gone, back to her more natural rage-face.

Cabba shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Fine. I’ll… buy you tickets to the Dragons game.”

His features remained impassive. He might as well have glanced down at his nails. All the air expelled from Bulma’s lungs. Chichi was going to leave without her if she wasn’t quick, and so she offered, “Season tickets!”

“I already have season tickets. I want something more… personal.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll get you an autograph.”

He grinned. “Better.”

“A meet and greet. I’ll take you along to one of their practices.”

His eyes widened like a young boy’s whose dreams were finally, finally coming true, and he opened the front door for her.

Bulma was not above digging through a 16-year-old boy’s closet, so that’s what she did. Cabba was behind her, explaining that he had both t-shirts and jerseys. He also tossed in a couple observations about how she should probably have something to represent her boyfriend’s team more than two hours before the opening game of the season, but she was too busy rifling through the plethora of green and black clothing.

Then Cabba jabbed a bony shoulder against her, and he was surprisingly strong. Bulma stumbled to her side and rubbed her own shoulder tenderly.

“Do you  _ play _ rugby?”

“All the time,” he muttered, and then extended a Dragons jersey to her. Bulma took the shirt. It was nice, the same breathable material the players wore. There was green stripe across the breast and Vegeta’s name printed in bold letters on the back. Cabba was skinnier than she was, but the jersey was supposed to be loose. On her, it’d be figure-hugging. She grinned.

“Perfect!”

“But I want to meet him,” Cabba said, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Yeah, fine.” Bulma tossed the jersey over her shoulder. “He’s not a very nice person though.”

He grinned. “Some people don’t think you’re very nice, either, but you’re going to introduce me to my hero.”

“Thanks Cabba. Really.”

She turned to leave, but a hand shot out and when Bulma turned, she found the boy frowning at her.

“Wait. Your hair’s a mess.” He handed her cap and she laughed, pulling it over her blue hair. “Shouldn’t you be leaving soon? My friends’ll be picking me up any moment for the game and I’m not dating one of the players.”

“Yeah. Chichi’s gonna kill me. Later!”

She changed her shirt in the elevator, because the entire world knew it wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever done in one, and then re-entered her apartment to find Chichi’s shower not running, but Bulma could hear her roommate rummaging around inside her room. Buying herself a few minutes, Bulma slid out of her pajama bottoms and into a pair of shorts and a pair of black booties. When she raced back into the living room, Chichi was standing in its center wearing a green romper, her hair in a stylish twist.

“That’s what you’re wearing?!” Bulma deadpanned

“Yes.” She eyed Bulma. “I’m not wearing a jersey. I’m not seven, and Goku’s not my boyfriend. And I’m not  _ on _ the team.”

Bulma shrugged as Chichi grabbed the tickets and stuffed them in her clutch. On the elevator, Bulma thumbed in her phone to grab a  _ Ryde, _ and by the time they were exiting the lobby a car was waiting for them.

“This is kinda exciting, huh?” Bulma asked, her eyes wide as their car dropped them off at the front of the stadium. There were crowds gathered out front, the parking lot was full of people drinking beer and chanting. Kids with grins ambled by with their faces painted. Bulma could feel the energy of the place--her toes wiggling with anticipation in her boots.

“It’s very exciting,” Chichi replied. They opened their bags to be checked, and they filed through the throng of fans.

The sun bleating down on them, Bulma was glad she’d worn a hat. They slid into their seats, the electric energy outside even more alive here in the enclosed stadium.

“Wow.” Bulma’s eyes widened. “Our seats are just behind the bench. I’ll be able to yell at Vegeta when he’s sidelined.”

Chichi stiffened. “Please don’t.”

With a sigh, Bulma replied, “You’re so proper, Chichi.”

“I am not. I’m just not… Remember when we used to go to baseball games in college?”

“Yeah. You never wanted to throw peanut shells or curse at the umps.”

Chichi shook her head, and Bulma laughed.

“I see it. She’s back.”

“Bulma. Don’t--”

“Princess Chichi.”

Then the boys filed out of the locker room and entered the pitch to thunderous applause. Goku’s eyes sought them out, grinning the moment he spotted Chichi. Her cheeks were red with a combination of happiness and sunshine.

And even though they probably couldn’t say they’d sat through an entire game of rugby between the pair of them, they got into it. The elderly man at Bulma’s right helped fill in some of the more complex rules, and the couple on Chichi’s left doted on how nice it was for them to be there to support their friends.

And even though she didn’t understand what a scrum was or why everyone was running and passing backward and tackling the shit out of everyone, Bulma couldn’t help but watch Vegeta. It was apparent why he was Cabba’s hero. There was no mistaking his blind passion, his raw and eager resolve. He was, it turned out,  _ more  _ intense on the field than he was off, and it thrilled and terrified her.

When the camera panned over his face, Bulma sucked in a breath. There he was on the oversized screen, and she felt like an idiot for not realizing it before. His brows were slammed over his dark eyes--sweat on his brow, his lips thinned and set. His jaw tight and strong. He was handsome. Good at what he did. And maybe he didn’t enjoy anything outside of his sport and hitting people, but Bulma didn’t know if there was room for much else to be passionate about.

She’d nearly forgotten that there was a game going on. The camera cut away and she watched as Goku got slammed to the ground. Chichi shot to her feet, and before Bulma could process, her friend shouted, “That was bullshit!”

The woman next to Chichi laughed. “He’s not petty, but he’ll get him back. Just watch, sweetie.”

And the pair of women did watch. The clock drew closer to the close of the game. And, sure, victory was already clinched, but the excitement wasn't dulled by it. Bulma cheered and Chichi laughed. Goku tackled the other team, winning them back the ball, and the man beside Bulma bought everyone a round of beers. Bulma and Chichi clinked their plastic cups together and chugged the foamy liquid down. When the buzzer sounded, they leapt in the air, cheering along with the rest of the stadium.

Afterwards, they waited patiently outside the locker rooms, and Krillin waved them over.

“The boys’ll head out this way. It’s best that they avoid the masses after a win,” Krillin explained. He led them through a door and down a narrow pass. The metal awning buzzed above their heads; Bulma could feel her heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

They rounded a corner and spotted the West City Dragons. And before Bulma could pick her fake-boyfriend out of the crowd, Chichi was racing forward and tossing her arms around Goku’s neck. He paused for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.

“You stink,” Chichi muttered against his jersey. “You did so well.”

He chuckled. Some of her hair tickled his nose. When he inhaled, everything smelled like Chichi. “I’m glad you came.”

Bulma watched them with a smile until a shadow fell over her. When she glanced over, she wasn’t surprised to see Vegeta. She was less surprised to see him frowning at her.

She winked. “Good game.”

In response, Vegeta grunted. And because she’d been doing far too much observing and thinking about him lately, Bulma noticed the way his eyes widened slightly. The way his jaw tightened before he tapped whatever emotion he’d had back down.

“What?” she asked, almost timidly. It felt like at any moment he’d disappear into the locker room and never talk to her again. Of all the men in the universe, this is what she’d been saddled with.

“Are you wearing my jersey?”

“Yeah. I nabbed it off my 16-year-old neighbor. In exchange, you’re going to have to meet him. Maybe throw the ball around with him a bit. He’s a big fan.”

Vegeta grunted. “The team is going out for drinks after we clean up.”

She blinked. He stared at her. Interacting with him was like pulling teeth, she decided. “Are you asking me to join you guys, or are you just being rude?”

His eyes met hers but betrayed no emotion. As good as she was getting at reading him, she still wasn’t confident what he was feeling besides being angry or bored all the time.

His gaze swapped away from her. “Fine. You can come.”

“Bulma!” Chichi shouted. “We’re going out for drinks.”

“So I hear.” The corners of her lips tugged to a grin.

When she turned, Vegeta was still looking at her. He asked, “You’re going to wear that?”

She gestured at her too-tight jersey. “Is that a problem?”

He looked away, quickly. “No. Whatever.” And then he disappeared into the locker room.

The team walked over to the bar across from the stadium, freshly showered and high from their win. Raditz started a chant that only half the team repeated. The hostess led them upstairs to a private floor and started taking drink orders, her lips painted red and her eyes sparkling with mirth. Bulma took a seat beside Vegeta. Not touching, but close. Relaxed girlfriend distance, she decided. Even if she hardly remembered what that was like.

She ordered a beer and listened to the Dragons’ banter. Vegeta at her side sipped water, since he didn’t drink soda, and he wouldn’t drink alcohol in her presence. He wasn’t talkative, a bit standoffish, really, but there was a quiet, dark humor to his quips.

Bulma watched as people walked by and stared at the group. Raditz flexed at a gaggle of girls who howled with embarrassed laughter as they scurried away.

“Where’s Krillin?” Chichi asked.

“Ah. He and Maron had a fight this afternoon,” Goku replied. “Said he’d have to pass tonight.”

“Poor guy, always trying to smooth things over with that bitch,” Raditz muttered.

“Hey.” Goku narrowed his eyes. “Don’t call Krillin’s fiance a bitch.”

“Tell Krillin’s fiance to stop being a bitch.” Raditz shrugged. “Gotta go. Someone’s expecting me.” He slammed a handful of cash onto the table and took the stairs two at a time.

“I can’t believe Whis dated that guy,” Chichi whispered to Bulma, who laughed and downed the rest of her beer.

They chatted and drank, and if Bulma squinted hard enough it kind of looked like Vegeta wasn’t having a completely miserable time. She decided that they looked the part of a couple, at least. Even if only a moderately happy one thanks to her fake-boyfriend’s permanent scowl.

Chichi and Goku, however, were another story. Chichi stared dopily at him when she thought no one was looking, and Goku kept casually resting his arm across the back of her chair.

After another round of beers, the Dragons players started taking off. A group led by Yajirobe grunted that it was getting too coupley, and ditched to go to a livelier bar. Tien’s girlfriend leaned across the table, her blonde hair falling like a curtain between them, and when she pulled away Tien was flushing purple. He jumped to his feet and said they were leaving, and then the pair was out the door.

“Huh.” Bulma smiled. “Wonder what they’re up to.”

“Feh. Says the self-proclaimed genius,” Vegeta muttered into his ice water.

“It was sarcasm, you lughead. Of  _ course  _ I know what they’re up to,” she shot. And with some difficulty, she resisted pouring the rest of her drink down Vegeta’s shirt and leaving him behind. When she glanced up, she realized that they were the only four left.

“I have tomorrow off, but I’d still like to get some sleep,” Chichi said. She got to her feet, cute shorts romper barely creased even after a rugby game in the blaring sun. Bulma stood as well, tugging at the hem of Cabba’s jersey.

They paid and left, Bulma blinking under the lamplight outside. Though it was late and the sun had set, the busy street was flanked with bars and cafes that stayed open into the early hours of the morning, and the sidewalks were crowded with the smell of cooked meats from cart vendors and sweat from people who’d spent hours dancing or huddled in bars. It was nearly impossible to walk without brushing shoulders with someone, which had Vegeta’s dark gaze swapping around testily, his spine straight and fists balled.

Bulma laughed softly and rested her head on his shoulder. He tensed, but didn’t shrug her off. Progress, she decided, wondering if she should test her luck with a little hand-holding.

Over the vibrant noise of the city, Goku’s stomach rumbled. He clutched his middle and groaned, “I’m starving!”

Chichi lifted her heels to see toward the end of the street. “There’s a really good pizza-by-the-slice place just a block or two that way.”

And even though Goku professed not to be able to make it that long, he did, and they ordered at the little window that opened to the street. Bulma took the greasy paper and eagerly took a bite. The fat slice of her pizza folded in her hands.

She caught Vegeta staring at her and lifted a challenging brow. “What?!” she asked, a bit of pepperoni still in her cheek.

“Nothing.” he chuckled, and then looked away, taking an equally large bite from his own slice.

“Oh, hush. You’re the luckiest guy in the word. I’m a freakin’ catch,” Bulma said, striding forward and popping in and out of the streetlights. He stared after her, her blue hair lit like the sea at night, his name spelled out across her back. When she turned, her eyes were big and sparkly and blue. They crinkled with wit and temper, and even though he didn’t want to, he smirked. Her scowl softened and she smiled at him, and he quickly looked away.

He didn’t need a girlfriend, and he definitely didn’t want one. But if he were interested in having someone around for regular conversation and an occasional fuck... Well, it didn’t matter. Because that wasn’t what this was.

art by Sanzosin


	8. The One with the Domesticity

 

Since she wasn’t the kind of person to ignore an impulse or overthink things, Bulma knocked on the door to Vegeta’s brownstone and took a step back.

She could hear him on the other side of the door, and she could practically feel his perturbed glare from the opposite end of the peephole. Since she suspected he was looking at her, she stuck out her tongue.

The door creaked, and Vegeta grunted through the crack, “What are you doing here?”

“What? Can’t I stop by and see my boyfriend after work?”

“No.”

She stopped the door from slamming with her foot, and flinched. “Jeez, Vegeta. You didn’t have to use so much force. Ouch.”

He blinked at her. And that’s when she realized he was in nothing but a pair of gym shorts and socks. Bulma’s eyes widened as she took in the smooth, hard muscles of his chest. Dropping her eyes to the rock hard slab of his abs. Her lips tugged into a smirk, but her thoughts were interrupted by Vegeta’s tongue clicking.  
  
“Tch. Letch.”  
  
“Hey! You’re the one answering the door without any clothes on.”  
  
And even though he hadn’t invited her inside, Bulma ducked through the door and into his pristine living room.  
  
“I just got back from practice and was taking a shower,” he replied, and Bulma noticed that his hair was still a little damp and he smelled like soap.

“You have an away game in a couple days.”

“Yeah.”

“So I won’t get to see you for a while.”

He frowned at her. “So?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m going to miss you or anything, but I’ve decided that I’m going to start spending the night here.” Her grin was blinding, and she held her work bag in front of her. She always kept a spare toothbrush and change of clothes inside, just in case she got immersed in work and had to pull an all-nighter in the lab.

The look he shot her was all heat, but not the good, sexual kind. No, Bulma felt like she might burst into flames at any moment with the hellfire burning in his eyes. Never one to back down from a disagreement, Bulma crossed her arms, work bag swinging at her side.

“We’ve been together for weeks now, Vegeta. We've been photographed having sex. It’s only natural that I spend the night sometimes.”

Either accepting her answer as valid or not wanting to fight, Vegeta turned and shrugged a t-shirt over his head before padding quietly into the kitchen.

She watched him move about. His belongings were Spartan. A single coffee cup sat beside a coffee pot that looked like it had never had its on switch touched. He opened the fridge, and Bulma peered inside--spotting rows of bottled water, cans of sparkling water, and neat stacks of plastic containers.

“I’m having dinner,” he said, and even though he didn’t phrase it as such, Bulma was starting to speak Vegeta well enough to hear the barely-articulated question in his words.

“Sure.” She sat at one of his barstools and tucked her feet under her. “I’ll join. What’re you having?”

“These are all singles. Nothing fancy. I have mushroom rice and steak,” he shuffled some of the plastic containers around, “Steak and broccoli, and chicken and veg.”

“Chicken, please.” Bulma watched him take two meals out and busied himself heating them up in the microwave. “Do you have a service for your meals?”

“Yes.”

“Like they deliver batches of homemade meals every week so you don’t have to cook?”

“Yes.”

She shifted her jaw to one side. “Is it really so taxing to just talk to me?”

He didn’t bother looking at her, keeping his interest on the numbers counting down on his microwave. “Yes.”

Bulma laughed. “That makes sense. I can’t really see you doing much cooking. Probably why your kitchen’s so clean.”

The microwave beeped, and he pulled out her dinner, set it in front of her, and carried on ignoring her.

Bulma sighed, staring at her microwave dinner. “So, what do you do after dinner?”

He sat on the stool beside her, freshly showered and slightly damp and warm. Bulma couldn’t help but steal a glance from the corner of her eye. She’d been attracted to him when they’d first met, sure, but only on a physical level. Emotionally, he was a bit like a brick wall. A challenge.

And while he grunted and ate his steak and veg, Bulma knew--fake dating or no--she was kind of into him, and she was more than used to getting what she wanted.

 

…………………...

 

“So, let me get this straight,” she said, eyes darting around Vegeta’s workout room. “After practice, you come home, shower, eat dinner and then… work out some more?”   
  
It was starting to become apparent that all the muscle in Vegeta’s compact frame was very hard-fought. She was tired just thinking about it.   
  
With a shrug, Vegeta crossed the room and started his nightly pushup regimen. Bulma sighed, but she was already in her stretchy workout pants and a tank top, and she had skipped 18’s HIIT class for, well, more days than she cared to admit outloud.   
  
Since he had a squat machine, Bulma moved the pin from the astronomical amount of weight he’d last squated to a more human-friendly level, parted her feet and dropped into a low squat. The weight pressed down on her shoulders, and she lowered herself slowly, slowly and then back up again. After a few reps, she stepped away--deciding she could use some cake. Or at the very least a rootbeer float.   
  
Vegeta was frowning at her.   
  
“What?” Bulma planted her hands firmly on her hips. “I’m trying to gain an inch on my ass.”   
  
And he didn’t want to, really. It was just a reflex. Someone says “ass” and your gaze drops--and while he was standing there noticing, she had a nice one.   
  
Her tits were fine, too. His teammates spent far too much time teasing one another in the locker room, trying to find out if someone was an “ass” or “tits” man, and he didn’t know why anyone would have to pick when women like Bulma were--   
  
He shook his head, cheeks aflame, and did another pushup. And then another, then another. Eyes never straying from the mat directly below him, Vegeta kept his focus on anything but the woman taking up space in every corner of his life.   
  
Later that evening, after she’d used his shower and he’d spotted blue strands of hair sticking to the tiles, she joined him at his bathroom sink like they were a fucking married couple. She met his eyes in the mirror and smiled at him.   
  
“This is fun! I’ve only ever lived at home and with Chichi.” She made a face. “I mean, I’d practically moved in with my ex, Yamcha, but we still kept our respective spaces. Distance was good for us, y’know? Hey, I brought a toothbrush but I’m gonna need to borrow your toothpaste.”   
  
Without waiting for a response, Bulma plucked his tube from the counter and--proving to be the horrid creature he knew she was--squeezed the tube from the middle and let a glob of paste fall onto her brush. As she scrubbed her teeth and watched herself in the mirror, foam pooling between her parted lips, Vegeta was convinced he’d never encountered such a vile, baseless creature in his entire existence. Surely, even Kakarot wasn’t quite so horrid. Surely, even Kakarot pushed toothpaste from the end of the tube like a decent person.   
  
“Hey,” Bulma managed through a mouthful of paste. Then she spat, and continued, “Your eyes look like they’re gonna pop out. Is everything okay?”   
  
Vegeta opened his mouth before slamming his lips back together, his jaw tight, his eyes accusatory. Bulma lifted a single brow before sighing and finishing cleaning her teeth. Then she beamed, winking at her reflection, and Vegeta watched in stupor as she made herself comfortable in his guest room. She was saying something about how he needed more pillows, but he was too busy staring at his wrecked toothpaste. Would he ever be able to right the tube again?   
  
“Hey, Vegeta,” her deceptively sweet voice called from across the hall. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I know I invited myself, but I appreciate it.”

  
  
……………...   


 

  
She tossed and turned, flipped the single pillow left for her in the guest room over to the cold side and sighed dramatically at the ceiling. Bulma was fairly certain she was the first and only guest Vegeta had ever had, and the overstuffed pillow was testing if she’d ever spend the night again. He wasn’t a very good host, she decided.   
  
Her phone sat on the nightstand, no message in over a half hour since she’d texted Chichi asking how her date was going.   
  
Bulma smirked, knowing that it was a sign that it was going well.   
  
Squinting at Vegeta’s modern light fixture, Bulma contemplated how she’d gotten there--beautiful, too-smart-for-her-own-good, and tragically single. It wasn’t that she needed someone, but she  _ liked _ being with someone. Since she’d been a young girl, she’d wanted nothing but a lifetime supply of strawberries and the perfect boyfriend. It wasn’t too much to ask, really, but there she was, hiding out in her fake-boyfriend’s townhouse because she was… lonely? Bored?    
  
Bulma swung her legs off the bed and padded across the floor, her toes chilly against the tiles. When she stepped through the doorway and into the kitchen, she yelped.   
  
“Crap, Vegeta. You scared the shit out of me.”   
  
Standing over his sink and holding a glass of water, he grunted, “I’m not apologizing to you for being in my kitchen.”   
  
Bulma slid onto one of his barstools and rested her chin on her fist. “I didn’t ask you to apologize. You just frightened me. Didn’t think you’d be up.”   
  
He drank some water, ignoring her.   
  
“You need a better pillow in your guest room.”   
  
“You can go sleep at your house.”   
  
She laughed. “Nah. It’s fine. I’ll just stay up and annoy you.”   
  
“You’re doing a fine job.” He frowned at the bottom of his empty glass.   
  
Since they were together, alone, and not asleep, Bulma said, “It’s not really the pillow, honestly. At night I get all these ideas for work projects, and my brain won’t shut off. Dad said I should start taking a sleep aid, but I don’t know. I don’t want to lose any of my ideas.”   
  
“For your university projects?”   
  
“Yeah. I’ve just got a stipend for some aerospace projects. Right now I’m building a wind tunnel to test different grades of aluminum.”   
  
He looked at her. “And this is what you want to do?”   
  
She sighed. “I don’t know. I’m twenty-eight. Do I have to have everything figured out?”   
  
He chuckled. “I’m thirty-one and I do.”   
  
“Well, aren’t you a shining example of success. You get to run around and toss a ball backwards and tackle sweaty guys. You’ve got it all figured out. I…” She chewed on her lower lip for a bit, trying to put her thoughts to words quite possibly for the first time. “I feel ridiculous because I know what my dream job is, and I could be handed it. At Capsule Corp. I could have any position created. I could run the damn place or be an engineer or just work in design. But for some reason, I want to earn my place first.”   
  
“That’s why you’re working at the university? So you can build your resume, prove your worth.”   
  
She looked thoughtful, and Vegeta wondered what brilliant, evil schemes were turning behind those clear blue eyes. It was frightening, really. She was beautiful, cross legged and half-dressed in his kitchen. She took up space for someone so small, and yet her voice carried with the sort of self-assurance that he couldn’t ignore. When he’d met her at that fateful party, she’d spoken, and he hadn’t stopped listening to her since. She’d made herself known the moment she’d introduced herself--then there she was, working her way into his every other thought.   
  
“I want to build a name for myself, but I can’t escape my dad’s legacy. I feel like, even if I accomplish everything and prove how capable I am on my own, it’ll still feel like I only got there because… Well, because of him.”   
  
“You know your worth, what you’re capable of doing. You don’t seem like the kind of person that gives a shit what anyone else thinks.”   
  
That got a smile out of her, at least. “Yeah. I guess I should be more like you then and not care about anyone else.”   
  
He smirked. “Exactly.”   
  
“You know, when that magazine came out the board at CC said I wouldn’t  be able to take over. That they’d push me out of the role and… I don’t know. I don’t want to be a CEO right now, but it’s Dad’s company. It’s a great company. And I’d be honored to run it one day.”   
  
Seconds ticked by--it was quiet in the kitchen. Without asking, Vegeta turned and pulled an empty glass from an almost barren cabinet and filled it with water.   
  
As he handed it to her, he admitted, “I just want to show my strength and agility and hit people. Getting sidelined during a game because of injury or fatigue… It’s the most frustrating thing. If I were sidelined for an entire season, I don’t think I could take it.”   
  
“And you’d be sidelined for fucking a beautiful, single adult woman at a party?”   
  
He frowned. “Apparently.”   
  
“But I thought people liked the bad boy.”   
  
“Not the ones screwing around with heiresses.” He sighed. “Now they think we’re dating, and it’s suddenly fan-fucking-tastic. I have sponsors, more air time. The broadcasters are talking about me and my personal life. It’s maddening.” His hands gripped the counters, his knuckles white from the force of his anger. “I don’t want this to be attributed to my success on the field.”   
  
“This?” Bulma ran her finger over the lip of the glass. “You mean me.”

“Us.”

“There’s an us?” she joked. When he only glared at her in response, Bulma laughed. “You were different out on the field. Cocky, joking, taunting… It was fun to watch. You’re strange. I spend all this time going on fake dates with you and can barely get you to string two complete sentences together. Then, you’ve got the ball and you’re about to score, and you suddenly need to give a speech.”   
  
“Strange?”   
  
“Good strange.” There was look in those blue eyes Vegeta didn’t want to decipher, so he took a sip of water to avoid it. Then she said, “ Of all the rugby players I could have tricked into getting drunk and fucking me senseless in an elevator, I'm glad it was you.”   
  
Her tone was saccharin. He exhaled, heavy, and then decided to chance a look at her.   
  
“I guess I could’ve done worse.” Then he put his glass in the dishwasher neatly, and commanded, “Now go to bed. I have practice in the morning.”   
  
“I’m having breakfast with Chichi. Pancakes!”   
  
“I don’t care. Good night.”   
  
Bulma stood up and carried her glass of water into the guest room. When she got to the doorway she turned and smiled at his retreating back.   
  
“G’night, Vegeta. Sweet dreams.” Then she quickly disappeared inside the room before he could contradict her.


	9. The One Where Vegeta’s Tsundere

He glared at a speck of dried blue toothpaste. That was twice in the last week that he’d told her to be sure to wipe the sink down after brushing her teeth and she’d ignored him. Shaking his head, Vegeta decided she was doing it to piss him off on purpose.   
  
Heiness wench.   
  
Muttering curses under his breath, Vegeta turned to leave and noticed that the guest room door was left open. A purple blanket was hanging off one side of the bed and two new pillows sat fluffed at the headboard. He suspected there were clothes hanging in the guest closet since she’d gone and made herself so at home.   
  
“It’s closer to school,” she’d said one morning when he reminded her she had her own place. Then she’d laughed, flippantly, and tried to pat his cheek. His speed superior, he’d stepped back and she’d said, “Besides. Goku is always at my place these days, and my parents are away on vacation. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”   
  
He was almost ready to pardon her when he opened the front door, gym bag slung over one shoulder, and found a delivery man hoisting a six-foot tall box up his porch steps.   
  
“Oh, hey! I’m bringing in that mirror you ordered,” the delivery man said jovially. Then he turned, spotting Vegeta over the box, and his eyes widened. “Shit! You play for the Dragons. Can I get an autograph?”   
  
Vegeta slammed the door closed behind him. “Leave the box on the porch,” he grumbled, and took the steps quickly, putting as much distance between himself and the home decor she’d ordered. Of the fridge that was now full of cans of soda and chocolate pudding cups. The shampoo in his shower that smelled like her.   
  
On the jog to practice, he passed a magazine stand. A curious glance confirmed that they hadn’t made any headlines recently, but apparently her living with him half the time was somehow improving his reputation. They were chatting him up now on the morning sports talk show, and he’d picked up another sponsor. Somehow his dating Bulma Briefs meant West City’s top athletic shoe company wanted him in their next commercial.   
  
Why he was supposed to give a shit about his reputation  was still beyond him. The combination of the brisk jog and thinking about Bulma got his heart rate up, and he made it to the practice facilities with enough time to slip into the locker room to put his bag away. He ignored the morning chatter as per usual, his pulse still pounding in his ears.

 

……………...

 

  
Across West City, Bulma sat in her office chair, staring at her graph paper, looking for answers. She’d stretched her abilities on the durability of aluminum, and was now coming up with new proposals for the lab. She hadn’t eaten anything apart from her thumbnail all morning, and with a sigh, she looked away from her paper and glanced at her phone.   
  
_ What’s for dinner?  _ she tapped out and sent. A few seconds later, her phone pinged.

_ I do not care what you eat. _ __   
__   
She grinned, unable to help herself. It felt silly, really, smiling because he was annoyed with her. It was so much fun to piss him off. It was easy, really. And if he was actually ignoring her, she decided, he wouldn’t have bothered responding at all.

Melody rested her backside against her desk. “Are you texting your boyfriend?” she teased.

Biting her lip, Bulma set her phone on the surface of her desk, and Melody cooed.

“So cute! Young, new love is exciting. My husband clips his toenails in front of me now. The romance is dead, but there’s no other dick for me.”   
  
Bulma blinked at her. “Fascinating.”   
  
With a laugh, Melody spun on her heel and kept walking toward the breakroom--empty coffee cup swinging at her side.

When Bulma got home, Chichi was washing a plate at the sink.

“Oh, hey,” her roommate greeted. “You’re home early.”   
  
Bulma glanced at the clock. “Am I?”   
  
“Well, maybe it’s just because I haven’t seen you in a bit.” She looked down at her socks, slightly embarrassed. “Probably because I’ve been spending so much time with Goku.”   
  
Bulma grinned. “Yeah? So, are you guys finally a couple?”   
  
“No.” Chichi sat the plate to dry and swapped off the water. “We’re just… friends.”

“Friends. Sure.”

“And Vegeta?” Chichi asked, a single brow raised.

“I don’t think he has any friends,” Bulma replied, honestly. “But it’s… something. I like hanging out with him. It’s easy.”  
  
“Easy.” Chichi laughed. “I don’t know. It seems complicated to me.”

Bulma grinned. He was complicated, true. She’d spent the last week moving in with him half to keep up appearances and half because it was fun to watch him fume, and quite possibly a teensy bit because she was lonely and she liked him. In that week, she’d learned his routine and was exhausted. It came as  no surprise Vegeta had no time for relationships. He had no time for anything, honestly.  
  
He woke early, had a protein shake, worked out in his in-home gym. He went for a run, showered and dressed. Then, he had breakfast--six eggs, bacon and avocado toast before practice. He came home after showering at the practice facilities, ate dinner, worked out, slept.

Bulma’s phone chimed, and she glanced down, a grin tugging at her lips.

“He’s picking up ramen.” Bulma started toward her bedroom, ignoring the look on her roommate’s face. “I’m going to change then head over to Vegeta’s.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll see if Goku wants to grab dinner, since you’re not sticking around.”   
  
Bulma paused at the entrance of her door. “Chichi and food. His favorite things. How could he say no?”   
  
She could feel her roommate roll her eyes, and Bulma laughed.   
  
After changing, Bulma took her capsule car to Vegeta’s townhouse.   
  
She knocked on his door and turned the handle--Vegeta had a terrible habit of not bothering to lock up. Toeing out of her shoes and leaving them by the door, she greeted her not-boyfriend and probably not-friend with, “You should make me a key.”   
  
“No.”   
  
Making herself comfortable on one of his barstools, Bulma watched him unpack the bag of ramen.   
  
“What’re you doing tomorrow?”   
  
“Away game. Travelling to East City.”   
  
Bulma’s mouth popped open. “Well, that’s something you should tell me so I don’t show up here!”   
  
Vegeta lifted his gaze and frowned at her. “I did tell you.”   
  
“ Because I asked.”   
  
“Why are you complaining? You know now.” He sat her bowl of ramen in front of her with more force than was necessary. “Besides, you should have access to our schedule.”   
  
Bulma hummed and popped open the lid on her plastic bowl.   
  
“The waitress at the ramen place sad you’re getting this to-go now?”   
  
Vegeta shrugged, but there was a bit of red blooming across his nose.   
  
Bulma laughed. “You’re a hunk of man, Vegeta. You should own it. She probably wants to fuck you, you know.” Her tone dropped low and husky, and Vegeta glared at her. Undeterred, Bulma pressed on, “Other girls probably want to fuck you, too.”   
  
“No more talking.”   
  
“You’re not very nice, Vegeta. Maybe _ I _ don’t want to fuck you after all.”   
  
They ate in silence for a bit, Bulma slurping her ramen because she was beyond caring about putting on airs around Vegeta. She was charming enough on her own--the whole package, really.   
  
When Vegeta headed toward the stairs to his workout room, Bulma blinked.   
  
“Shouldn’t you rest? You’ve got a game tomorrow.”   
  
His stilled, back muscles tightening at her words. When he looked over his shoulder at her, Bulma felt the disgust radiating from his dark eyes.   
  
“I don’t rest. I improve.” Then he left her, sitting in his kitchen, with half her dinner left but none of her appetite.   


 

  
……………………..   


 

  
She was tapping away on her work laptop when Chichi entered the apartment. Her workout clothes were red and darkened with sweat, her dark hair in a ponytail swinging behind her. Her teeth were gleaming in the artificial light--the sort of happy endorphin high Chichi got after a workout.  
  
Bulma wanted to chuck the laptop at her. Instead, she closed the screen and sighed. “You got home late last night.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah.” Chichi grinned. “Goku and I went for a walk down Main Street. Some of the shops are starting to set up for autumn.”  
  
Bulma leaned forward and propped an elbow on the table. Resting her chin in her hand, she asked, “Is that all you did?”  
  
“Yes.” Chichi opened the cupboard to retrieve a glass. Then she filled it with water, avoiding eye contact as she admitted, “Goku called me a ‘good friend’ last night.”  
  
Fingertips drumming against her chin, Bulma looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hmm… That’s troubling.”  
  
Chichi took a sip of water. She stared at the clear liquid with a disturbed frown. Then, she exhaled all the air she’d had in her lungs. “I don’t want to be his friend. I… I want to be more.”  
  
“Maybe Goku’s the kind of guy you have to trick into dating you,” Bulma offered.  
  
“I’m not going to _trick_ him into dating me. I want him to like me because, sometimes, I catch him looking at me with this goofy little grin and… I think…”  
  
“I think I’m going to gag.” Bulma rolled her eyes to the ceiling dramatically. “Obviously he’s half in love with you. You make cake and kick chicks in the face. You’re smart, dedicated, funny… He’s admitted he likes you, maybe the ball’s in your court.”  
  
“The ball?” Chichi deadpanned.  
  
“You know… The proverbial relationship ball. Well, you’ve got it, and it’s time you dropkick that shit into the endzone.”  
  
“I get that you’re trying to talk rugby to me, but you’re making zero sense.”  
  
Bulma chewed on her lip for a moment. “Okay. Fine. How about this? You both like each other. You both want to spend time together. How about just asking him if he’d like to be in a relationship.”  
  
Chichi rinsed the empty cup in the sink and ignored Bulma’s advice. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to date Goku, but she didn’t want to look desperate. She wasn’t an idiot. Goku’s face was smiling at her from sub sandwich commercials, and she’d spotted his poster at the library reminding kids to read. He was an icon, a city treasure. And, yeah, he made her feel special and wanted, but she had no reservations about who he was. About how he helped a random girl carry a couch up her porch steps, and smiled that dazzling Goku SmileTM. The girl had melted into a puddle of girl-bits while Chichi’d stood idly by.  
  
He was a hot commodity, and he’d already told her he wasn’t interested in dating. He was nice to her, sure, but he was nice to _everybody_. He told her liked her, even, but then he’d called her his friend. Sometimes, it felt like they were taking steps backwards.  
  
But he held her hand, and he took her to dinner. He spent time hanging out on her couch, pointing out which treats made on the East City Bake Off he’d wanted her to make (which was all of them).  
  
It seemed like he liked her as more than a friend. But she needed it spelled out if she were going to allow herself to hope…  
  
“What are you doing tonight?” Bulma asked, and Chichi stopped over-scrubbing the cup, making sure her thoughts didn’t get away from her. “Want to go see a movie or something?”  
  
Chichi turned and rested her backside against the lip of the counter. “I had a killer kickboxing class yesterday then ran six miles this morning. Today, I’ve got a hot date with my foam roller.”  
  
“There’s a Dragons game at eleven,” Bulma said, and then she got up and tucked her laptop in her bag. She’d gotten plenty of work done, and though she wanted nothing more than to finish her report and move onto the next project, she also wanted a distraction. A reason to use her hands. Even though she ought to have been polishing up her findings on aluminum blends, her fingers were itching to text Vegeta and wish him good luck. Not that the dumb jerk would be grateful she was thinking of him.   
  
From behind her, her best friend asked, “Do you want me to make some strawberry cupcakes?”  
  
Blue eyes sparkled. “Always.”  
  
Chichi laughed. “Okay. You make mimosas; I’ll bake. You turn on the Dragon’s game, and I’ll foam roll. It’ll be just like old times.”  
  
Bulma retrieved a bottle of orange juice from the fridge, checking the expiration date. It wasn’t too far passed, so she sat it on the counter and decided on the most expensive bottle of champagne they had on-hand.  
  
“You know, we never watched a second of rugby together, so it’s not exactly like old times.”  
  
Chichi shrugged. “Times change.”


	10. The One Where She Cares

His legs ached with each step up the porchstoop. Not risking looking or feeling weak, he resisted the urge to drop against the door for support as he twisted the key in the lock and pried it open.   
  
Body thrumming with victory and the dull ache of pain, Vegeta flicked on the light. For the first time since he’d moved into the furnished model home, it felt empty.   
  
He dropped his bag by the door, slamming it shut behind him.   
  
When he entered the bathroom and turned on the sink to splash some cold water on his face, he noticed its pristine state. It was tidy, minimal. No specks of toothpaste dried to the basin or hair products scattered across the counters.   
  
He almost smiled. Damn that blasted woman. She was so bright and loud and messy that her absence was felt everywhere. If he weren’t so fucking exhausted, he might’ve laughed at himself.   
  
Flipping off the water, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his workout pants and yanked them down. With a quiet  _ plop _ , they landed in the hamper, followed quickly by his shirt.   
  
After the Dragons’ win on the road, he’d come back to the lockerroom to find a series of missed texts on his phone. Bulma had apparently gotten drunk at a bar and watched his game with some coworkers. It was hard to tell through the litany of typos and exclamation points, but there was a congratulations somewhere in there.   
  
She was loud--didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no’ or what personal space was, but she was also kind of charming. She didn’t back down or shrink away, and she was smart and pretty--things she’d never stopped reminding him of, so how couldn’t he take notice. Most of all, she was annoying.   
  
And after coming home he’d been more than ready to tell her to leave him alone, only… She hadn’t been there and, really, it was easier this way. Even if it weren’t half as fun.

 

 

…………………..

  
  


The next West City Dragons game was at home. Even though the team was tucked into the quiet corner of the stadium in the locker room, Vegeta could practically feel the electric thrum of energy from the crowd.   
  
His shoulders burned with the urge to slam into someone, to tackle someone--flatten them out. Even though that was a normal urge before a game or practice or breakfast, it was multiplied that afternoon.

A too-loud chuckle was thrown around the room, and Raditz rested his weight on his shoulder against one of the metal lockers.

Vegeta stared forward, his glare concentrated on the locker directly in front of him.

“Oi, ‘Geets. You ready for today’s game? Gonna face off against your boys.”

His brows narrowed at the locker, wondering if he didn’t respond to Raditz, he’d go away.   
  
“You know--’cause we’re playing your old team.” Raditz grinned, showing lots of teeth.

Vegeta felt the twitch of the vein beneath his left eye. Between Raditz talking to him and thinking of his old team--the North City Freeze--his electric anticipation morphed to white-hot anger. His fists balled at his sides; his jaw tightened.

A hand dropped onto his shoulder, and then Kakarot grinned. “Ah, don’t psyche him out, Raditz. This is going to be a tough game for all of us.”   
  
His teeth met with force, and Vegeta slapped the offending hand from his shoulder.   
  
“I am not ‘psyched out’, you blubbering fool. I will approach today’s match the same as I do every week. Do not think there’s any reason I’d feel any different just because I used to have to listen to those idiots’ locker room chatter. I care as little for them as I do for all of you.”   
  
The team’s captain blinked at him. “I don’t know, Vegeta. You seem pretty worked up.”

Vegeta tugged his jersey over his head and ignored him.   
  
“I mean. You always seem pretty worked up, but this seems… different.”   
  
“Shut up,” he snapped. Then he dropped onto the bench and began lacing his cleats. The rage burning inside him, threatening to break, and he knew he’d just need to contain it a bit longer and then… And then he could take out all his pent-up fury at everyone on the Freeze.

They took to the field. Vegeta was, unsurprisingly, heckled by his old teammates. Zarbon took no time with a cheap hit. Vegeta rubbed his lip. When he glanced at his hand, there was a bit of blood.   
  
He spat on the turf. “Tch. You think you can best me with mediocre tackles? Try again.”   
  
A haughty smirk tugged at Zarbon’s lips. “Ah, you were once the Prince of the Freeze. How the mighty have fallen.”   
  
Vegeta glared, and when the next play began, he rushed toward Zarbon, uncaring that the ball was being passed in the other direction entirely. Zarbon rose to his full height, yanked down his shoulder, and planted his feet. When Vegeta collided into him, he took the brunt of the tackle with his collarbone and before he could push back he found himself lying on the ground, staring up at the blinding sun--high at its zenith, gleaming down. Mocking him.   
  
He bared his teeth, and when he went to stand, Vegeta struggled.   
  
When Krillin lifted an arm to have him subbed out, Vegeta froze.   
  
“No,” he grunted through clenched teeth. “Fucking bullshit. You can’t bench me.”   
  
Raditz lifted him to his feet, and Vegeta stumbled. The taller man chuckled. “Quit fighting being taken out. We need to get a trainer to look at that shoulder, Vegeta. That was a pretty nasty hit.”   
  
“I’m fine.” He shrugged the other man off, and Radtiz moved aside. “I’m fan-fucking-tastic.”   
  
He limped to the sideline, rage bubbling inside--his fists shaking at his side. He avoided the worried eyes of his teammates, bit his tongue to not snap at Krillin asking if he was alright.   
  
Vegeta turned and caught Zarbon’s smirk. His eyes narrowed, a promise of revenge for next time. The other man flipped his braid over his shoulder, and planted his hands on his hips. Vegeta kicked the table of water coolers over with a curse. 

  
  


………………………..

  
  


He slammed his fist against the green locker. Wisely, his teammates gave him some distance. There was the general melancholy of a loss hanging about everyone’s heads, but with Vegeta it was always anger, not sadness, that seemed to highlight him like an aura.   
  
He showered, letting the steam fill the large room and hover around his calves. The scalding water relieved his muscles but couldn’t work its magic on any other part of him. Squeezing his eyes shut against the humiliation of defeat, he sighed and shut off the water, dressed slowly, and left the locker room before he could hear any platitudes from his teammates.   
  
The door slammed behind him, and he was immediately accosted. Bulma threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. Vegeta stiffened. When she pulled away, her eyes were wide with worry.   
  
“Are you okay?! You aren’t hurt, are you?”   
  
Damn her for looking concerned. He shrugged her off. Press wasn’t allowed in this area, and he didn’t need to worry about looking like a bad fake-boyfriend. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t his anything.   
  
She stared after him with barely a roll of her eyes. As he left the stadium he heard her mutter, “He’s  _ such _ a drama queen,” to someone. He slammed the door behind him.   
  


  
………………………..   
  


  
His house was quiet and dark. He flipped the light to change one of those things, and yanked his shoes off at the door. White socks padded down the tiled floors to the kitchen. He pulled a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water.   
  
He knew he was brooding, but he didn’t care.   
  
Before he’d managed a sip, there was a knock on his door. His tired scowl deepened. There was only one person that would bother him at his house. He drained the glass of water, and pulled open the door, unsurprised to see Bulma’s grin waiting for him on his porch.   
  
“Hey,” she greeted, slipping past him and letting herself inside, “you should really make your girlfriend a key. She’s far too beautiful to be standing on the porch at this hour.”   
  
He could feel the cold nip in the air. Summer was bowing out to fall. Where there’d once been green trees flanking the road, now the sidewalks were covered in a layer of leaves, a collage of orange, brown and red.   
  
He shut the door, frowning at her sleeveless shirt.   
  
“You could wear more clothes.”   
  
Bulma bit her lip. “Are you okay? That looked like a pretty gnarly hit, and Krillin said you wouldn’t let the trainer look at you.”   
  
He ignored her.   
  
“That’s going to bruise,” she said softly, and then her chilly fingers swept his cheekbones before he took a step back.   
  
“You seem like you’re in a bad mood.” She crossed her arms. “And that’s saying something, because you always seem like you’re in a bad mood so this… this is something.”   
  
“Don’t you have any other friends to bother?”   
  
“Nope.” Her grin was so big it made her eyes crinkle a bit. “Just you. Hey! Does that mean you consider me a friend?”   
  
“Hmph. I don’t consider you anything,” he replied, and then he busied himself turning on the television mounted to the biggest wall in his living room.   
  
“ Oh! What’re you watching?! I kinda thought this TV was just a prop.” She sat down on the overstuffed grey sofa, tucking her legs under her.   
  
Ignoring her, he flipped through the menu of recent recordings and selected the Dragons vs. Freeze game.   
  
“Oh.” Bulma’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I already watched this game. And you lived it.”   
  
“I have to watch it so I can improve.” He sat on the edge of the sofa, back straight, lips pressed together. Bulma watched him, wondering if he ever let loose--relaxed a little. His lower lip was fuller than the top. She’d brushed her knuckles against those high cheekbones, and she’d almost gotten away with it. His dark eyes never strayed from the TV.   
  
Together, they sat in silence, watching through the game. She could see his jaw tighten, his brows narrow low over his eyes. She’d never seen someone with a such a severe disposition toward self-criticism. He was above and beyond his harshest critic, commenting on nearly every play on how he could improve, how he could do better next time.   
  
Bulma shifted closer to him, debating on whether or not to rest her hand on his knee. It was, universally, a comforting gesture, but she knew it would be lost on him.   
  
“You did really well. You can’t win them all.”   
  
He looked perplexed, like she’d just spoken another language entirely to him.   
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Why… can’t you win them all? Because, that’s the expression.” Bulma flashed a small, patient smile. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you things like that? You know, not everyone can get first place, and you should be a good sport--try harder next time. All that stuff?”   
  
He blinked. “No. I was expected to ‘win them all’, losing wasn’t an option. And even in victory you reflect on your performance and try to improve.”   
  
Bulma whistled. “Whoa. Not sure what kind of childrearing went down at your house, but that sounds rough. Sometimes people lose. It sucks, yeah, but you pick yourself up, dust off and give it another go. All that hardened aggression… surely that came from somewhere.”   
  
“I don’t always win, but I don’t ...enjoy it when I lose. I loathe it, in fact. When I played on the Freeze I hated Kakarot’s smiling face more than anything I’d ever faced on the pitch. He’d try and help me up after he’d tackled me, and expect a handshake after the game.”   
  
Laughing, Bulma rested her hand on his knee. “Vegeta, that’s called sportsmanship.”   
  
“It’s bullshit.”   
  
She pressed her lips together. “You’re a complex guy, you know? But you’ve gotta stop beating yourself up. You need to let yourself heal--mind  _ and _ body.”   
  
He grunted, and she leaned closer, squinting at the purple bruise blossoming on his skin. It was just starting to darken, and pressing her luck, Bulma lifted a hesitant hand and ran her fingertips over the tender skin.   
  
“You should ice this.”   
  
“It’s fine.” But he didn’t pull away. He just stared at her, expression guarded. Careful.    
  
Bulma’s fingertips danced with an excitement that squeezed her heart and made her toes curl. She moved the pads of her fingers from his angular cheekbones and down toward his strong jaw, brushing her thumb over his lower lip.   
  
He continued to watch her, that guarded expression lessening just slightly. At that moment, Bulma couldn’t care less about saving face with the Capsule Corps. board. She wasn’t even lonely or looking for a relationship. She just… wanted to kiss Vegeta.   
  
So she leaned forward, her eyes sliding closed, and then she felt the warmth of him leave. Opening her eyes, she saw Vegeta had scooted back a foot or so and was frowning at her.   
  
Bulma pursed her lips. “I’ll take that as a no, then?”   
  
His brow furrowed. “That?”   
  
“This.”   
  
He looked even more confused, and Bulma expelled all the air from her lungs in a dramatic sigh. Then she stood and started for the door.   
  
“I’m a catch, you know. You should count yourself lucky that I wanted to kiss you.”   
  
He opened his mouth, shut it, and then turned toward the television. A still from the game was paused, the losing score taunting him. As though today hadn’t been enough…   
  
The door opened--a gust of wind tossed some of Bulma’s hair around her shoulders. Her eyebrows were snapped low over her blue eyes, her mouth was pressed into a thin line. She was mad. The door slammed shut behind her, and Vegeta leaned against the back of his couch.   
  


  
………………………..   
  


  
Chichi sunk her chilly hands into the deep pockets of her cardigan. The ocean waves crashed against the sand, and she closed her eyes against the salt spray and continued walking along the shore.   
  
“I always forget how cold fall gets in West City,” Goku said, and she fought the urge to lean against his warmth.   
  
Since he was so much taller than she was, Chichi lifted her chin to study his handsome features. They were less carefree than usual. It was hard to tell, since even scowling slightly he looked kind, but there was a serious look in his eyes and the slight downward tilt of his mouth.   
  
He was upset about that day’s loss. Even though he smiled throughout his post-game interviews, chatting amicably with the reporters, saying that his teammates had given it their all but they just hadn’t managed to get it done today. Chichi had watched, eyes glued to the screen, as he’d promised they’d get them next time.   
  
And she’d believed him.   
  
“What are you thinking?” he asked.   
  
Chichi flushed. “N-Nothing.”   
  
He grinned. “You’re lying, but that’s fine. I’ll let you have secrets.”   
  
She smiled and kept walking the winding path along the beach. There was a splattering of people in the distance--a couple holding hands, an older woman walking her dog. However, given the nearly-set sun and the dropping temperatures, they almost had the place to themselves.

“I love a long walk after a game,” Goku said. “It stretches my muscles out, helps clear my mind.”   
  
Chichi looked over at his profile against the navy sky. “Yeah.” But she wasn’t quite sure what she was agreeing with.   
  
He turned his face toward her. And with the soft crash of waves behind them, Goku kissed her.   
  
It was short, almost chaste, and when he pulled away Chichi stared back at him, her eyes wide.   
  
He looked unsure of himself. “Sorry?”   
  
Chichi laughed. “Please, please don’t be sorry for that.”   
  
Then she lifted up on her toes and kissed him. Longer this time. When she pulled away he smiled at her. She was confused how the tough-as-nails badass on the field and this sweet, honestly good guy were one in the same.   
  
“You’re so pretty, Chichi.”   
  
She flushed and slipped her hand in his. His palm big and warm. He walked her home, and they shared an awkward goodbye at the elevator. He waved and she laughed, grinning the whole elevator ride to her condo.   
  
When she opened the front door, she sighed blissfully. And then the mood came crashing down around her ears.   
  
Bulma was sat at the kitchen table, her arms crossed. Chichi could read the expression on her best friend’s face and knew Bulma was ready for a fight.   
  
Before she could ask her friend what was wrong, Bulma snapped, “I don’t think he wants to sleep with me.”   
  
Chichi lifted a brow and shut the door closed behind her. “Who?”   
  
“Vegeta. I tried direct, I tried subtle. Both times, he didn't want to sleep with me.” She unfolded her arms. “Do you think there’s something wrong with him, maybe? I’m quite literally the entire package, and I’ve never been met with such disinterest.”   
  
Chichi dropped into the chair beside her friend and sat on the edge, trying to be as close to Bulma as possible. She’d dealt with Bulma’s frustrations with Yamcha, and she knew how to handle the teasing glint Bulma got in her eyes after a bad first date, but this...    
  
“Oh, honey. I didn’t know you were into him.”   
  
Bulma’s expression softened. “I didn’t know I was, either. Ug. He’s such a jerk. I’m too good for him anyway”   
  
“Yeah.” Chichi smiled. “You’re way too good for him, babe.”   
  


  
………………………..   
  


  
Bulma had hoped to avoid him, maybe leave him high-and-dry and prove how absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder and all that crap. But after she’d gotten off work that Monday he’d texted her, asking if she wanted to go shopping.   
  
For shoes.   
  
Bulma met him near his house, grinning as he approached.   
  
“So, what kind of shoes are we talking about?” she asked conversationally.   
  
He glared at her. “I need some new running shoes.”   
  
“Ah. I go to the store on eighth--they’ll fit you and everything.”   
  
He looked appalled. “I don’t want anyone touching my feet.”   
  
She laughed. “Foot phobia?”   
  
“No.” He scowled. “But, fine. We’ll try your place…”   
  
She led the way down the winding street. She thought about popping out a capsule car, since it was a bit longer than she wanted to walk, but being out with Vegeta like this was kind of nice. It forced them to spend a bit more time together.   
  
“Why did you call me, anyway?”

“Because I needed shoes.”   
  
“Yes… Right. But why’d you invite me?”   
  
His eyes darted to hers, lips flexing to a frown before returning to a look of indifference. “Isn’t shopping a thing couples do?”   
  
“Yeah. Your fashion sense could definitely use a woman’s touch.”   
  
At this, Vegeta looked offended, and she laughed.   
  
“I’m kidding. It’s just a lot of t-shirts and workout clothes. You should let me take you shopping-shopping.”   
  
“‘Shopping-shopping’. I anticipate the day when you decide to show me the genius you apparently are.”   
  
“Hey, buddy! I’ll have you know, today at work I managed to get plastic polymers to--”   
  
Bulma’s eyes went wide as Vegeta cut her words short with a kiss. His lips parted and she melted into him, running her tongue against his lower lip before sucking it gently into her mouth.   
  
It was different than the only other time they’d kissed. Her hands fitted on his shoulders, grounding her. She was sober this time, for starters, and Vegeta had…   
  
Vegeta pulled away and kept walking like nothing had happened, and she was practically jogging after him. She could see paparazzi in the distance and she knew why he’d done it, but she couldn’t help herself.   
  
Pressing her fingers to her lips, Bulma blinked and grinned before whispering to Vegeta’s retreating back, “Oh. I am definitely going to hit that.”


	11. The One Where Chichi...

 

The little bell above the door chimed, and the air was heavy with the smell of chocolate cake. He shut his eyes, tight, and when he opened them again, Krillin found himself face-to-face with Chichi.   
  
She was wiping her hands off on a tea towel, a pleasant smile on her features. According to the team captain and his best friend Goku, Chichi could be kind of scary. Which, knowing Goku well, Krillin was positive the other guy deserved. However, as far as he was concerned, Chichi always seemed warm and friendly, the scent of cake lingering on her skin.   
  
Knowing her was going to make this harder, but he’d been ripping off a good deal of proverbial bandaids lately. And so, Krillin cut to the chase, “I need to cancel my cake.”   
  
Chichi’s eyes widened.   
  
Krillin clarified, “My wedding cake.”   
  
“Oh.” Her hands had to be dry by then, but Chichi continued to the thread the tea towel between her fingers.   
  
He shrugged. “Yeah. It just wasn’t working out. We rushed things.”   
  
Chichi glanced down at the towel and then back at the man standing in the doorway. She’d never liked Maron much, but the Team Manager had been more than friendly towards her. Whatever the circumstances, Chichi’s heart squeezed for him.   
  
“I let everything get to my head. She was so pretty that I was blinded by all the other things.” He barked a short laugh, but it sounded flat in the empty bakery. “Pretty dumb of me, really.”   
  
“No,” Chichi whispered. “Not dumb. Love has a way of defying logic.”   
  
Krillin’s eyes lifted, staring at the brim of his hat. “Love. Right.”   
  
“I really am sorry, Krillin.”   
  
He shrugged. “Not your fault. But… I know we’ll lose the deposit.”   
  
“Oh, no.” Chichi quickly ducked below the register for the folder of upcoming cakes. She thumbed through and ripped out a page. With a smile, she said, “Friends and family discount.”   
  
“Thanks, really.” And then Krillin was turning toward the door. He paused just before pushing it open, hesitated, and finally asked, “Do you happen to have the PR Manager’s numb-- Never mind.” He shot his reflection in the glass door a rueful smile. “Way too soon for that.”   
  
Then he pushed through the door, making the bell chime. Chichi blinked when it swung closed, and when his words sank in, she grinned.   


 

  
………………………..

 

 

“Whoa, whoa.” Bulma frowned at her friend. “Slow down a bit and start over.”   
  
Chichi exhaled. “I think he was trying to ask 18 out.”   
  
“Who?”   
  
Chichi threw her head back and groaned. “Krillin! Keep up!”   
  
“You’re the one that wanted to  _ walk  _ to HIIT class today,” Bulma chided. Then her arms unfolded, her eyes wide. “Wait! Krillin wanted to ask 18 out?!”   
  
“Yes.” Chichi grinned. Her ponytail swinging behind her as she picked up the pace. There was pep in her step, and Bulma sped-walked to keep up, her sneakers smacking quietly against the pavement. “It’s a bit soon, what with him just breaking off an engagement, but…”   
  
Bulma grinned, her teeth flashing in the morning light. “But 18 is hardly conventional! And they’re always doing this weird back-and-forth flirting-slash-teaming up on Vegeta and I when we meet about PR stuff!”   
  
When they arrived at the gym, Chichi cut a straight path toward 18. With little fanfare, she propped both fists on her hips and  said, “18, I think you should join us for the away game.”   
  
18 looked up, her usual jaded stare flashed with impatience. “What?” she asked.   
  
Bulma caught up, panting slightly, and added, “Yeah! You should definitely come along. We’re going to be staying at this luxury mountain resort. All the rooms have private  _ onsens _ and there’s supposed to be an on-site restaurant with hot sak é and--”   
  
“Why?” 18 interrupted, one of her plucked brows arching.   
  
“Uh… Ah…” Bulma nearly smacked herself. She should’ve given this more thought. “So you can see what we do. Uh. Oversee my behavior?”   
  
18 looked unimpressed.   
  
“Because,” Bulma sighed, “we want to set you up with Krillin.”   
  
With a blink, her eyes swapped from Bulma to Chichi then back again. “Excuse me. I have a class to put on.”   
  
Then she started toward the front of the room and paused. Looking over her shoulder, 18 frowned, asking, “When’s the trip?”   
  
Bulma nearly squealed as Chichi filled her in on the details.

 

 

………………………..

 

  
He came home from practice to find Bulma lying on his couch, her eyes shut as a breathy little pant escaped her lips. Vegeta stilled. He needed to shower, eat, and rest in that order, but he found himself watching as she shifted on the couch. Her t-shirt riding up, her bare legs moving against one another, and he looked away--quickly.   
  
She shouldn’t be here. He didn’t  _ want _ here there. It didn’t matter how smooth the expanse of her pale skin looked, or how her pink lips were plump and inviting, or how good his name sounded from her mouth--   
  
Vegeta froze, his eyes dragging back over to her.   
  
“Mm,” she mumbled, shifting in her sleep. “Vegeta…”   
  
His entire body went rigid. Even parts of him he willed  _ not  _ to grow stiff at just a moan. He was above this.   
  
“Vegeta…” Her teeth caught her lower lip between them. _“_ Vegeta _.”_ __   
  
_It_ was the single most erotic sound he’d ever heard, and he was helpless to stare. Helpless but to have his ears heat as his mind tried to make sense of what this meant.   
  
Of their own accord, his feet moved to stand by her on the couch.   
  
“Vegeta. Vegeta,  _ please _ .”   
  
His hand reached out to touch her cheek. Her skin was warm, soft. His fingers flexed because he wanted to touch so much more of her.   
  
“Vegeta, you’re so…” She squirmed on the couch, shirt riding up an inch more. His eyes darted toward it, and he fought the urge to groan. “You’re so…” She moaned and his dick twitched in his workout shorts.   
  
So  _ what _ ?! His mind screamed. His hand tightened into a fist.   
  
“So completely fucked,” she said, her voice teasing. His eyes snapped to meet hers and she grinned back at him. “You want me, you big oaf. Quit pretending you don’t. When I asked for a towel the other day after my shower, I could totally see you peeking.”   
  
“Hmph,” he grunted, snapping away from her, utterly embarrassed that he’d been caught staring. Utterly furious that she  __ knew he wanted her. Utterly exhausted that he didn’t know why he didn’t just give in.

 

  
………………………..   
  


 

It had been a long week. Chichi ran home, hoping the rhythmic thumps of her sneakers against the pavement would help clear her head. The dropping temperatures made running late in the day possible, but despite the crisp air, hot beads of sweat cut a path down her face, rolling over her shoulders and dampening her sports bra.   
  
She was running home, technically, but it felt a bit like she was running away from everything that was happening with Goku. From what had her face flushing, and not because of the exhaustion of her jog.   
  
Chichi rounded the familiar corner street, zipping past her go-to coffee spot and favorite salad bar. She jogged alongside where the sidewalk widened for the light splattering of tourists who came to the city to watch the leaves change. In the spring, the trees flanking the street would blossom pink, but for now everything was tinged with autumn.   
  
She shivered, but she wasn’t cold.   
  
Up the elevator and through her front door, Chichi exhaled when she found her place empty. Bulma had class, but sometimes her roommate’s crazy schedule was hard to keep track of. Besides, the blue-haired woman had begun spending lots of time at Vegeta’s place--especially for someone who claimed not to like the guy all that much.   
  
Chichi entered the bathroom and turned on the water. It was cool at first but quickly began to steam. She yanked her damp tank top off and tossed it into the hamper where it fell with sodden  _ splat _ .   
  
The bathtub filled slowly. Her feet wiggled impatiently. Since the moment Goku called her, asking if she’d like to join him at his gym downtown for a spar, her heartbeat had been thrumming frantically against her ribcage. Chichi leaned against the door, panting, watching as the bathtub continued to fill. Her arms ached. She’d be bruised tomorrow, sore for days. She tugged off her athletic shorts and groaned.   
  
They’d sparred. With a room full of people watching, Goku had flashed a wolfish grin, then pounced on her.   
  
Chichi bit her lip and climbed into the tub. Her body temperature already elevated, she sighed into the steaming water, sunk all the way to her nose and slammed her eyes shut.   
  
She flexed a sore ankle, remembering the feel of Goku’s grasp. He’d tried to fling her, but she’d arched her body and twisted under him. After freeing herself, she’d attempted to pin him down, but to no avail.   
  
The heat worked its magic on her sore muscles, and she skimmed a hand over her lower abdomen, flinching at a tender spot just above her navel. Something was seriously wrong with her, but she wondered, just for a moment, if Goku had felt  _ it  _ too.   
  
She ran a hand from her sore knee and up the underside of her thigh. Her eyes remained closed, remembering the weight of him above her as he pinned her to the floor. The heat that had pooled low in her belly as she’d managed to flip them. She’d straddled him easily. He might’ve been stronger than she was, but in a hold like this…   
  
There’d been a glint in his eyes then, and Chichi had smirked down at him.   
  
She sighed, her hand falling to her breast. Her other hand swirled the water at the apex of her thighs, and she flushed.   
  
His breath had grazed her ear as he whispered, huskily, that he wasn’t going to be pinned that easily. And then he’d jabbed, just enough to throw her back, and Chichi’d landed hard on her knees.   
  
It wasn’t proper foreplay, she thought, one of her fingers slipping inside her, followed by a second. She spread her legs in the tub and sunk deeper into the water.   
  
Had it been so long since she’d been touched that a brush of his skin against hers in a fighting match had driven her mad with lust?   
  
Chichi’s breath ragged, she remembered his excited grin as he’d claimed victory after their spar.   
  
Chichi picked up the pace--faster, longer strokes until her whole body contracted with barely a whimper.   
  
She kept her head underwater, the heat still soothing her aching muscles.   
  
Goku might’ve taken their match, but Chichi felt like they’d both won.


	12. The One With the Trip

Bulma squirmed in her seat. She’d taken plenty of private Capsule jets and scenic copter rides in her lifetime, but whilst flying she preferred to be behind the controls. Flying could be boring. Vegeta’s heavy hand landed on her jumpy knee, and she blinked.   
  
“Am I annoying you?”   
  
He grunted. “Always.”   
  
Her laughter was tossed around the small plane but hardly anyone looked their way. The members of the West City Dragons were a noisy bunch. The flight to the southern islands wouldn’t take long, but delay before takeoff had everyone in the plane chatting.   
  
Bulma leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thanks for taking me along.” She could feel the muscles of his shoulder bunch. Whether it was the contact or her words, Bulma wasn’t sure, but he exhaled before admitting, “Krillin said I should invite you.”   
  
“Of course he did,” she mumbled. And then Bulma yanked a  _ Popular Science _ magazine from her bag and started flipping through the pages. There was an article about capsulation--an homage to her father’s career--she’d wanted to read. She wasn’t surprised. She knew Vegeta hadn’t invited her to come along to an away game because he’d craved her company. No. This was all about appearances. She hadn’t forgotten.   
  
But still... Her hands gripped the flimsy pages, and she wanted to scream. Bottling her frustration wasn’t something she ever did. So she stamped Vegeta’s foot; he frowned at her.   
  
“That didn’t hurt.”   
  
Bulma kept her eyes on her magazine. “I don’t care.”   
  
“Why are you so pissy?”   
  
“Because,” she began, lifting her eyes to meet his. “Even if you and I aren’t really a couple, you could at least pretend you like spending time with me.”   
  
Vegeta’s eyes went black. “I didn’t think you were the type of person who wanted me to lie to protect your delicate emotions.”   
  
“I don’t want you to lie.”   
  
He smirked. “Fine, then. Having you here isn’t my choice, and I’d still rather be alone, but it’s less boring this way.”   
  
Bulma bit her lip, and she stared down at the article she’d been searching for. Even though she knew Vegeta didn’t like her company, his words spurred something in her. She didn’t dare call it hope, but longing, maybe. She’d taken off work, stared at pictures of the beautiful mountain resort where they’d be staying. There’d been a nervous excitement churning her insides since Vegeta’s call, asking if she wanted to join him at his next away game.   
  
Through the gap between the seats, Chichi was grinning at Goku. Bulma resisted the urge to roll up her magazine and wallop Vegeta on the head. Why he had to make things so complicated, she’d never know.   
  
But she wasn’t a simple, easygoing person either, so it made sense that she’d fallen for someone who was equally difficult. She deserved it, probably.   
  


 

  
……………..

 

  
  
The resort was beautiful. Situated on the side of the mountain with views of the thick canopy of trees in all directions.   
  
“There’s only one rugby team representing all the southern islands,” Tien’s girlfriend, Launch was saying. Her hair was tied neatly behind her head, her sandals smacking the sandy flagstones that cut a jagged path toward the rows of little cabins where the team was staying. “I always look forward to the Dragons playing here ‘cause it’s like I get a mini vacation.”   
  
Bulma threaded her fingers between Vegeta’s. Her smile was saccharin, her blink exaggerated. “I’m so glad Vegeta invited me along.”   
  
Launch cooed. “You two are adorable! Opposites definitely attract.”   
  
“Yeah.” Bulma nudged her date with her shoulder. “That’s why Vegeta found himself someone so beautiful, talented and cultured.”   
  
“I’m just happy Vegeta finally found someone that’ll put up with his personality,” Launch laughed.   
  
“This is our room,” Vegeta said, ignoring any and all conversation surrounding them. Hands still intertwined, he yanked her arm none too gently toward their door. Inside, there was an overstuffed king size bed, modern furnishings and a bathroom styled with teak wood. The bay window looked out onto a small, private  _ onsen _ and breathtaking mountain views. Bulma inhaled.   
  
Her luggage was already waiting for her on the foot of the bed, and she unzipped her suitcase as Vegeta said, “I have a game tomorrow, so I’m taking the bed.”   
  
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sleeping on the floor, and we aren’t requesting a rollout.” When she met his frown, she tilted her head to one side. “I promise I won’t to do anything naughty to you, as tempting as it might be.”   
  
He shot her a look like she was muck stuck to the bottom of his cleats. Bulma glared back at him.   
  
“Just you wait, you big oaf. I’m going to sleep in my underwear, just to show you how wrong you are.”   
  
“I’ve already seen everything,” he grunted. Bulma grabbed her straightener from her suitcase and tossed it at his head. He dodged the appliance with a quick sidestep, but the smirk he shot her was clearly amused.   
  
Bulma huffed. If only she’d brought sexier lingerie...

 

………………………..

 

Though the air in the mountains carried a cool breeze, the lowland where the stadium sat was a different temperature entirely. When they took to field for their game, it was hot. The humidity only seemed to make it worse. Vegeta felt like he was breathing water, and despite not even getting his heartrate up, his skin was slick with sweat.   
  
The other team was more than used to these temperatures, which put the Dragons at a disadvantage, but Vegeta was not to be thrown off his game because of something as petty as the weather. So he straightened his spine and took the field.   
  
Goku swiped the back of his hand across his brow before shaking hands with the other team’s captain. “Whoa, it’s muggy out here.”   
  
The other captain grinned, flashing a crooked incisor. “Nothing you boys shouldn’t be able to handle.”   
  
From the stands, Bulma and Chichi watched as the game began. Around them, Launch and some of the other teammate’s family and significant others joined. On the edge of the group was 18, checking her phone. Her eyes drifting down toward where the Dragons’ Manager stood, eyes narrowed in concentration, on the sideline.   
  
Bulma and Chichi clung to one another when the score was tied, and their cheers crescendoed as the Dragons began to pull away. Vegeta got a try with ten minutes left, and then Goku answered--just when he’d looked to be cornered--with a drop goal.   
  
When the game was over, Bulma tossed her hands around her fake-boyfriend’s neck.   
  
“You’re so sweaty,” she said conversationally, pulling away and grinning into his cheek. “But I’m going to hug you anyway because you were today’s MVP.”   
  
“Goku score more points,” he mumbled--not even happy after a win. Bulma tilted his chin up with her knuckle, forcing him to look at the pride shining in her blue eyes.   
  
“Maybe so, but that’s only because you covered him twice and had a back pass.  _ And _ you had back-to-back charge downs, so let yourself celebrate.”   
  
He grunted. “Fine.”   
  
But he didn’t shrug her off after the team cleaned up and loaded the bus. He didn’t peel her from his side as they made the short trek to the resort’s restaurant.   
  
He told himself it was only because there was paparazzi in nearly every corner. It had nothing to do with the feel of her soft skin or the scent of her blue hair. She sat beside him in a back booth; he shifted his arm around her, his fingers moving over his name printed on the back of her jersey.   
  
After dinner they joined the team at the resort bar for drinks. Only, Vegeta ordered water and Bulma, not wanting any alcohol clouding her judgement, stopped after her first cup of hot sak é.   
  
Even though her feet were killing her and Chichi and Goku had disappeared to take a walk around the resort perimeters, she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay, like this, as long as Vegeta would allow.   
  
She knew she had a  better shot touching him out here  in public than she did in the confines of their private room. And she nearly scoffed at the irony.   
  
In the shadows of the bar, Vegeta slid one arm around her waist and braced the other against the wall above her head. Bulma was left with her nose all but buried in his shoulder, the sound of his rowdy teammates and their dates lost in the noise of the bar.   
  
“I hate crowds,” Vegeta commented, voice low.   
  
She nodded. “You hate everything though.”    
  
“Mm.” With his free hand, he took a sip of water and then set the glass down on a hightop table. When he shifted back, he looked at her. His eyes were black, the florescent lights of the bar tossing blue shadows across his angular features.   
  
Bulma’s hands feathered up Vegeta’s chest and over his shoulders. She was sure he could use a massage after today’s game, but she was greedy--only thinking of herself. She ran them back down his chest, pausing over his impressive pecs and down his abs, enjoying the thrill of power as she felt his muscles tense wherever she touched.   
  
The song changed, but the only thing she could focus on was the pair of arms that stole around her waist. Her lips curved into a smile. He probably wouldn’t admit it, but he seemed to be enjoying touching her, too.   
  
Even though she wanted to stay like this as long as possible--in the security of the public eye where Vegeta was her boyfriend for all intents and purpo ses--she was a risk taker, and so she asked, “This is nice and all, but can we do this later?”   
  
One of his dark brows lifted. “Later?”   
  
“Yeah.” Her grin was wicked. “Later. When it’s just us.”   
  
“Hmph.” Imbolded by her interest, her touch, today’s win, Vegeta lowered his head and whispered, “Don’t talk about later if you don’t mean every…” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear and she clutched the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself to him. “... word of it.”   
  
“I do,” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “Every word.”   
  
He knew she wasn’t drunk. He knew she was attracted to him. But he hesitated.   
  
Biting her lower lip, Bulma asked, “Why do you purposely deprive yourself of things that you know will bring you pleasure?”   
  
Vegeta swallowed. He didn’t indulge in things like sweets or alcohol when it could negatively impact his performance. But Bulma… He suddenly couldn’t come up with a single reason why he couldn’t enjoy her. She’d done nothing but improve his reputation. She’d simultaneously drive him insane and give him a hardon in one go. And he… He…   
  
“Fine.”   
  
Bulma’s eyes widened. It was more than she’d hoped for, honestly, and she followed him from the bar, past the camera flashes and into the cool evening air. It was dark outside but lit with halos from little fairy lights wrapped around the trees. She followed Vegeta back to their room, wordless, and the second the door clicked back into its frame, she kissed him.   
  
It was so different from their drunken kisses in the elevator so long ago, and nothing like the quick kisses that had been for the camera.   
  
He moved against her almost carefully. Sucking here, nibbling there. A bit of tongue against her lower lip. Her hands on his shirt, his grasping her jersey. Bulma parted her lips--her tongue gliding against his. As much as she enjoyed kissing him, she was an impatient woman. Her hands slipped to his waist and tugged his shirt up, over his chest and head and shock of dark hair. Then she tossed it onto the floor.   
  
She didn’t want an elevator quickie, so she took her time, panting against him, savoring the look and feel of him shirtless. Not being a particularly patient man himself, Vegeta removed Bulma’s jersey-- _ his  _ jersey--and then quickly set to work on unbuckling her shorts. She shimmied out of them and stood in front of him in nothing but her underwear--bold and unashamed.   
  
A curse ripped from his throat as he took in the sight of her, and then he lifted her and dropped her onto the bed in a single motion.    
  
Fingertips brushed her ribs, her hips. Lips nibbled at her ear, along her neck. She tilted her head back and gasped at the ceiling. Her toes curled around the sheets.   
  
With a shove, Bulma got Vegeta seated on his haunches. Another shove and he was pinned below her. She grinned and straddled his hips. Her gaze held his for a heartbeat--then she leaned down to cover his mouth with her own.   
  
She dropped a kiss on top of one of his solid pecs. Her right thumb unthreaded the button of his pants, sliding the zipper down until there was a gap wide enough to reach a hand inside and tighten around his cock.   
  
He released a grunt into her hair, and his breath caught, held and then came out in a single heave as her thumb found a drop of precum and ran it down the side of his dick. She grinned. His eyes met hers, dark and hooded and hungry.   
  
“I thought you didn’t like me,” she teased. Sitting straight, she gave him a view of her. She pressed against him, the fabric of her underwear the thinnest layer between them.   
  
“I’ve never hated you more,” he grunted.   
  
Her laughter filled the room as he sat up, their chests molding together, their mouths meeting once more. He unclasped her bra; she helped him out of his shorts. He tugged at her underwear until they were down one leg, and she flicked her left ankle to one side, not caring where they landed.   
  
When she found herself with her back on the bed, Bulma opened her mouth to protest just as Vegeta’s tongue traced down her collarbone and around her nipple. Slowly torturing her until finally, fucking finally lapping over it.   
  
Then he was inside her with a hiss. Bulma’s arms locked around his back, his breath hot in her ear, his abs flexing with every movement.   
  
And she gasped and squirmed and her eyes slammed shut. Her hands gripped his back and she felt herself building, building--   
  
His name tore from her lips, her eyes wide as she panted beneath him. But he’d deprived himself of it, this,  _ her  _ for so long, that he didn’t want to end things just yet.   
  
Vegeta gave a few more thrusts, watching her devilish grin, the sheen of sweat over her brow, the bounce of her tits as he moved inside of her, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away again. No, he was caught in her snare--a willing prisoner. She gave a breathy pant, her nails in his skin, and he picked up his pace, quick and hard until he found his own release buried inside her.   
  
Later, Bulma decided that Vegeta’s chest wasn’t such a bad place to find herself plastered to after a very lovely orgasm. When she finally decided to peel herself off him, she propped herself up on an elbow and smiled.   
  
“Still hate me?”   
  
He opened a single eye, frowning at her. “Not sure. I might take some convincing.”


	13. The One with Breakfast and Departure

When she woke up in the morning, Bulma stretched and yawned and wiped a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. She’d slept well, images of the previous night’s activities flashing in her mind. She squirmed, not bothering to hide her face-splitting grin.  
  
She could hear the shower running in the bathroom and, on sore muscles, she padded across the floor and leaned against the open door frame. At some point after sex she’d gone to pee and slipped on his t-shirt. When she’d returned to the bed, he’d been sleeping.   
  
“Good morning,” she greeted, watching the ripple of his muscles as he turned. His hands were in his hair, sudsy bubbles weighing down his black flame, and she grinned. “I had fun last night.”   
  
And the man who’d ripped her favorite black underwear nearly in two flushed beneath the steam of the shower and turned away from her.   
  
“It was just sex,” she heard herself saying, even though she felt her heart sink a little as her voice was tossed around the tiled bathroom. The first time in the elevator had been ‘just sex’. Last night was…   
  
“I know,” he shot back.   
  
“Okay. I don’t want you to get flustered about nothing.” She pushed off the doorframe and came to stand in front of him, the hem of his shirt skimming over her thighs. “But I’m not really one to play games or hide my feelings, and I had a lot of fun last night.”   
  
She could see by the way his muscles tightened that he was listening, probably anticipating her next words.   
  
“And I definitely want to do _that_ again.” The water shut off and the bathroom was silent. Bulma locked her gaze on him. “I’m stellar in the sack, so I know you had a good time.”   
  
“Conceited.” He clicked his tongue.   
  
She smiled as he stepped out of the shower and began drying himself.   
  
“But you didn’t deny it,” she said.   
  
“So, what. We’re fake dating but having sex now?”   
  
She shrugged. That seemed easy enough. “Sure.”   
  
He kissed her, and she grinned against his wet skin. He smelled like soap and Vegeta.   
  
“But I get to be on top this time.”   
  
“Feh,” he grumbled, like it was a chore while his heart was thrumming against his ribs; his dick already hard.   
  
When she was seated across from him at the resort’s restaurant for breakfast, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever liked a person more.   
  
He grunted. He was pathetic. Morning sex and he was half in love with her. He wanted to slam his head against the table, maybe commit seppuku with the little metal butter knife clutched so tightly in his hand.   
  
Bulma’s eyes were round when she looked up at him. “Are you okay?”   
  
He let go of the utensil, and it smacked against the table with a hollow thud. Bulma lifted one of her brows. “You seem…” Her pink tongue poked from one side of her mouth, and his gaze dropped to it. Aware of what that tongue was capable of. Aware of-- “...weird,” she said.   
  
“I’m just hungry.”   
  
“I zapped all the energy out of you last night, huh? And this morning.”   
  
He didn’t want to look at her stupid smile and, he imagined, her playful wink, so he stared at the menu and ignored the photographers outside the restaurant. Because, honestly, he wasn’t sure if he gave a shit about them anymore. His little lapse in judgement at the party was history. No one was talking about it anymore. If anything, his reputation was better off now having dated the Capsule Corps. heiress. They’d been together long enough. They could probably split now, no consequence to either.   
  
When he peeked above his menu, Bulma was tucking some of her hair behind an ear.   
  
“I think I’ll have strawberry pancakes.”   
  
“Do you think it’s possible to keep fucking me and not want more?” he asked, watching as her blue eyes widened a fraction. “I think I’m going to go with the day’s special--double meat.”   
  
“You’re more conceited than I am if you think a couple fucks and I’ll be falling over myself trying to pin you down to something serious,” she sniffed. “The special sounds fine. But the pancakes sound better.”   
  
“I’m not conceited. It’s just, in my experience, mixing not-dating and real-sex gets messy. And pancakes are fine but strawberries are overrated.”   
  
Bulma folded her menu, mind made up. “Do you have lots of experience mixing fake-dating and real-sex? They’re my favorite, by the way.”   
  
“No. Not any experience personally, but it seems messy. What do you mean they’re your favorite? Pancakes?”   
  
“No. Strawberries.”   
  
“I know. You eat them almost every day in some form.”   
  
Bulma sighed and plopped both her elbows on the table. “Have you dropped the first conversation? Because that’s the one I’m more interested in having with you.”   
  
“No, I haven’t ever fake-dated before, but I’ve tried just-sex, no feelings, and it didn’t end well. It was…messy.”   
  
Bulma laughed. “Feelings don’t have to be messy, Vegeta. I’m a big girl. I can make sure I won’t get attached.”   
  
“I thought cake was.”   
  
Her eyes narrowed in confusion.   
  
“Your favorite food,” he clarified. “You said it was strawberries, but I’d originally thought you liked cake.”   
  
“No. It’s strawberries.” She dropped a cheek onto one of her hands, studying him. “I do like Chichi’s strawberry cake, though. What about you?”   
  
“What about me?” He sounded bored.   
  
“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to fall for me?”   
  
His lips flattened. _Yes_ . “No.”   
  
“See? Then we’re fine.”

 

 

………………………..

 

 

Goku loaded her suitcase onto the bus that would take them to the airport and smiled down at her. Chichi shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and then sighed.  
  
“I had a lot of fun--” she said, at the same time Goku said, “I’m glad you could make it--”   
  
They grinned at one another.   
  
“I’ll miss this,” she said. A gaggle of Dragons team members tromped down the pass towards the bus. Their voices loud, their laughter rowdy. Goku grabbed Chichi’s hands and pulled her out of the way.   
  
“This?” he asked under the shade of a tall pine.   
  
“Just having the freedom to hang out with you. Not having to work for a few days.”   
  
“You’re a hard worker, and you seem to like it.” Goku’s eyes sparkled, dark in the shade. “I like the days you work because I can pop by and grab cake.”   
  
She laughed. “Yeah, I like that, too.” Her heart squeezed with hope, but he hadn’t let go of her hand, so she looked down to where his much bigger fingers squeezed hers. Her fingers weren’t dainty and perfect, no. Years of cooking baking had left them with small burns. Years of fighting had made her palms a bit too rough, the pads of her fingertips too calloused. She went to tear her hands from his, but his grip tightened.   
  
“Don’t.”   
  
She blinked. “But my hands…”   
  
“I love your hands.”   
  
And she knew it wasn’t despite those imperfections. It was because of them.   
  
Chichi smiled. “Come by for a slice tomorrow?”   
  
“A slice?” His grin was lopsided. “You know I don’t come by for less than three.”

 

 

……………

 

 

The moment the heavy door slammed back into its frame, Bulma was wrapped around him.  
  
She was fairly sure she’d moved first, but he’d returned the embrace just as eager. His hands on the small of her back, his tongue in her mouth. Only a few feet from the couch, Vegeta found himself with his back on his soft rug, Bulma smiling above him as she straddled his torso.   
  
“Welcome home,” she said, before pressing her lips against where his neck met his shoulder. He smirked at the ceiling, his hands on her hips, pushing the fabric of her dress up, up, up so that his fingers could glide against the skin over her ribs.   
  
His hands helped guide her hips down while he met her with upwards thrusts, a low growl ripping from his throat as he buried himself deep inside her.   
  
“I was thinking of what I was going to do to you when we got back the whole plane ride back…” Bulma smiled, and then she continued to move above him until her eyes slid closed and she tossed her head back--similarly overcome. Wholly lost in her pleasure.   
  
As she picked up speed, his fingers dug into her hips, whispering filthy nothings that made her press harder against him, move faster above him. Leaning forward, she moaned his name against his lips, his hands stilling before flexing reflexively against her hips.   
  
Giving into the urge to touch her everywhere, Vegeta let his hands roam--fingers on her hardened nipples, palms warm against the underside of her breasts. When he jerked inside her with a final climax, her name ripped from his lips.   
  
Bulma grinned, and then in a motion too quick for her brain to process she found herself on her back, his mouth on her clit, and she gasped at the ceiling. It wasn’t long before she was thrashing in his arms, calling out loudly as she came.   
  
While she panted against his rug, Vegeta propped himself on his strong forearms and watched her eyes return to focus. Her lips parted and cheeks pink, a wicked little smile playing across her features.


	14. The One Where He Knows

She was on her knees--panting. And then her head slammed into the headboard.   
  
Hard.   
  
“Dammit, Vegeta! You can be rough with me, but I’m not some chap out on the rugby field.”   
  
He grunted. Flipped her over so she was on her back, grinning up at him. Despite the venom in her voice, there was smile playing on her lips. He sighed.   
  
“Is this better?”   
  
She lifted her hips to meet his rhythm. “Much.”   
  
“I liked you better on your knees,” his dark eyes flashed, “but I’m in no mood to complain.”   
  
He gave another hard thrust, and her head knocked into the headboard. “Can  _ I _ complain?”   
  
A small sound bubbled up from Vegeta’s throat--almost a chuckle, not quite a laugh. Then he was on his back, Bulma above him, his hands on her hips. Her tits bounced and her knees tightened against his thighs.   
  
“Much better.”   
  
She said it, but he’d been the one thinking it, and afterwards he rolled off the condom and she peed--romance, really-- and he said from the other room, “ I’m having dinner with my family. There was a pause. “If you’d like to join.”   
  
Her eyes flew open. “Yeah?”   
  


Another beat of silence, and then, “You don’t have to go. You’re not really my girlf--”

“I’ll get dressed.”   
  
Though she only kept a paltry version of her otherwise impressive wardrobe at his place, she always kept a capsule in case of emergencies handy, and Bulma yanked her favorite black dress and a pair of red-soled heels from her belongings and quickly went to work at settling her shoulder-length hair.   
  
Vegeta was dressed nice. Nicer than his usual rugby uniform or gym attire, anyway. It reminded her a bit of the first time they’d met at that party. It felt like ages ago, when he’d been a stranger she’d used him for company. When she’d gotten him drunk and then, in the confines of the elevator she’d…   
  
“Why are you blushing?”   
  
She nearly tripped on her heels as they walked out to his car. “Just… thinking.”

  
Vegeta grunted. Before he’d opened his car door, he paused and glanced at her from over the roof of his car. “My parents don’t know you’re not my real, ah, girlfriend.”   
  
She grinned. “Do you really have trouble saying ‘girlfriend,’ Vegeta?”   
  
He sat down and slammed the door, and she quickly settled into the passenger's seat.   
  
“It’s fine.” She shrugged on her seatbelt. “We weren’t supposed to tell anyone. I haven’t told my parents or my sister, not that I’ve talked to any of them since my sister’s running about the countryside writing magazine articles, and my parents are on perpetual vacation.”   
  
“You have a sister?”   
  
“I do, just the one. It was a bit like we’re both only-children though, because there’s so much space between us.” She smiled. “And you? Do you have any siblings?”   
  
“Just a brother.” His black CC model car weaved in and out of West City traffic.  The further he pulled from the skyscrapers, the more speed he gained.

“What's his name?” she asked, her eyes focused outside the window where buildings gave way to countryside.

“Tarble.”

“And… is Tarble like you?”   
  
“He’s nothing like me.”

“Ah.” She grinned, swapping her gaze from the window to Vegeta. “So he’s… sweet and nice and interesting?”   
  
His grip tightened on the steering wheel. A muscle at the base of his jaw clenching just enough to let Bulma know that the question had bothered him.  
  
“It’s okay, Vegeta. Other people can be interesting you know.”   
  
“He isn’t interesting. He just grew up with different expectations.”   
  
Bulma leaned back, curious. “He wasn’t always expected to win?”   
  
“I’m the first son. It’s different.”   
  
She squinted at him as he clarified, “Tarble was second, so he wasn’t expected to be perfect. There were never repercussions when he failed. For me, success was the only option.”   
  
“Wow.” Her lips parted. “That sounds rough. I’m sorry, Vegeta.”

“Don't be sorry. I’m glad.” His face stayed stony, unflinching, unmoving. “I’m better for it.”

“I don't think that’s solely your upbringing, though. You just seem kinda manic.” Her blue eyes focused on his face. Even relaxed he seemed intense. Unconsciously unaware of the commands to take things so seriously. “Like you’d push yourself way past the range of  _ normal people _ , regardless of any outside pressure.”

Bulma clapped her hands together. “Oh! I see. You’re a perfectionist.”   
  
He grunted. “Of course I am. I’d sooner not do something at all if I’m not going to get it right. What’s the point of giving something so little effort, of not bothering to excel?”  
  
“Wow. You must think I’m a pretty lazy bum, researching at the university to avoid grownup responsibility.”   
  
Vegeta shot her a look before swapping his gaze back to the road. “You aren’t shelving responsibility, though. You’re just figuring it out before you commit. There’s a difference.”   
  
A rueful smile, and then, “You’re  obsessive about doing things correctly while I’m avoiding doing them at all.”   
  
“Don’t be dramatic. You’re a genius. You’ll figure it out.” His lips tugged to a smirk. “And so what if I’m obsessive about doing things correctly. You never seem to complain about that, at least.”   
  
Bulma laughed.  
  
The car slowed before a large gate, and Bulma pressed her nose against the glass to get a better look. While Bulma’s parents house was sleek and modern and flashy, this was like a castle. The kind of mansion chock full of antiques Vegeta probably wasn’t allowed to touch as a child. 

“You’re rich,” she said conversationally. He ignored her.

The moment he had the car in park, a boy exited the only other car in the circular driveway.   
  
Bulma stood to greet the newcomer. It was unnerving, really. He was like a smaller, more affable version of Vegeta. Same dark eyes, same shock of hair, but a friendly smile pulled at his lips. A small laugh in his voice as he said, “Bulma! It’s so nice to finally meet you. Vegeta mentioned he might be bringing someone to dinner.”   
  
She loved him instantly. 

The rest of Vegeta’s family, however, was another story entirely.   
  
Vegeta’s father looked at her, inclined his head as though working something out in his own head, before turning his gaze from her and not bothering to look back. Without thinking, Bulma’s lips parted in question. She was eager to know what he’d been thinking, and what he’d so quickly dismissed. She was an interesting girl, a good catch for any son. However, her protests were cut short by a look not quite as indifferent.   
  
Vegeta’s mother frowned at her. Her dark hair was swept back into a prim chiffon, a neat strand of pearls decorated the high collar of her blouse.   
  
“It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Bulma Briefs.” Bulma flashed the overly polite grin she’d practiced at Capsule Corp. functions. She wasn’t usually one to fake niceness, but Vegeta’s parents seemed…   
  
“Yes.” His mother’s lips tugged to a frown. “I saw your photographs with my son.”   
  
Bulma exhaled. There wasn’t much reason to feign properness when a sex photo of herself and Vegeta had been made public. “Oh.” Her voice felt uncharacteristically tight. “Right. Of course.”   
  
A snort of laughter from Tarble, and the kind boy smiled apologetically. When they made their way toward the dining room, Vegeta’s brother fell into step beside her and said, “I saw those photos, too.  I’m impressed you got Vegeta drunk. Vegeta wouldn’t even drink with his classmates in high school. So high-and-mighty all the time.”   
  
She giggled. “He certainly hasn’t dropped the high-and-mighty attitude. Apparently I caught him on an off night. Lucky me.”   
  
Dinner felt a bit like an interrogation. Vegeta’s father questioned her schooling, university research, and plans for taking over Capsule Corps. Vegeta’s mother asked how they’d met, but Tarble steered the conversation away from anything too touchy, seeming to sense Bulma’s discomfort. Vegeta kept his expression jaded, ate his dinner and said they had to be off the second the last dish was cleared from the table.   
  
When they said their goodbyes at the door, Vegeta’s father flashed a small, proud grin.   
  
“I like her. She’s smart, has a good head on her shoulders.”   
  
Vegeta grunted. “She’s fine.”   
  
And when Bulma jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, he didn’t even flinch. She’d make it a point to never skip another arm day with 18 again. One of these days she was going to manage to inflict some amount of pain on him, no matter.   
  


Tarble waved them off, and Bulma laughed. “I like him. He’s like a smaller, nicer you.”   
  
“He’s nothing like me.”   
  
Bulma opened the passenger door and rolled her eyes. “Exactly.”

  
  


……………………….. .   
  


  
Chichi poured another round of drinks. Since the temperature was dropping, they’d opted to dine inside, and their circular table felt too large for the trio.   
  
“These are the best mimosas I’ve ever had,” Whis said, then took a sip from his glass with a sigh.   
  
Bulma didn’t lift her eyes from the menu as she replied, “You say that at every brunch.”   
  
Ignoring her, Chichi laughed. “I told you! Best in West City, hands down.”   
  
“So,” Whis swirled a bit of orange liquid around his glass, the bubbles catching the artificial lights of the cafe, “What’s new with you two? I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve caught up.”   
  
Glancing up, Bulma and Chichi made eye contact. Then, with a shrug, Chichi said, “I think we’re both sorta-kind of dating professional rugby players now?”   
  
Whis blinked. “I know. I read the tabloids.”   
  
“Well.” Bulma bit her lip. “I’m not really dating Vegeta. We’re just… having fun, protecting our reputations.” She paused, flushed a little. “Having fantastic sex.”   
  
“And I’m actually dating Goku, I think, but it has nothing to do with reputation, and we’ve had no sex.”   
  
Whis lifted a brow. “Taking it slow?”   
  
Chichi rearranged her silverware, straightened her linen napkin, kept her focus on anything but the pair of judgemental stares her friends were shooting her. “I think I’m ready, but it’s not something I just--”   
  
“Give away in public elevators?”   
  
“I’m sitting right here, you know,” Bulma drawled.   
  
Chichi laughed. “Am I crazy to be so close to 30 and clinging to my virginity like… like... “ She sighed. “I think I love Goku. I think I’m ready.”   
  
“That was two ‘thinks’,” Whis offered. Bulma nodded sagely at his left.   
  
“You’ve waited long enough, and Goku seems like a patient guy. When you’re sure, you’ll know.”   
  
Folding her napkin across her lap, Chichi decided to change the subject. “Bulma and I set the Dragons’ team manager up with 18 Gero.”   
  
Whis’ eyes went round. “And is she happier?”   
  
“Eh, maybe?” Bulma grinned. “It’s impossible to tell.”   
  
“What are the Dragons up to today?” Whis asked.   
  
In unison, the girls replied, “Practice…”   
  


 

  
………………………..   
  


 

  
He lobbed the ball into the air with his right hand and caught it, squeezing it gently before tossing it back up again.   
  
“Hey! Vegeta!”   
  
He nearly dropped the ball, but it bounced off his fist and, due to his stellar reflexes, he widened his fingers and clutched the leather oblong in his grasp.   
  
“What?” Vegeta snapped at his captain’s smiling face.   
  
“Chichi said we could go to their place after practice. She’s going to bake cookies, and we can play a board game.”   
  
It sounded tedious. But, he was an idiot, because there was  _ something  _ rattling inside him at the thought of seeing Bulma so soon. Briefly, he wondered if that weird sensation was joy. It had been so long, he barely recognized the feeling.   
  
“Well?” Goku asked, an innocently timed blink complete with some sweat falling into his eyes.   
  
Vegeta grunted. “It’s fine. Whatever.”   
  
Goku scratched his head. “You should be nicer. Maybe smile. Bulma’s not going to want to spend all her time with you if you’re a jerk.”   
  
But he spent most of his time being himself, and she hadn’t complained. In fact, she met his insults with her own. She tempered his moods and gave him space. She was always there, but… There was that pesky feeling again. Joy? No. It kind of made him want to vomit. And so, he ignored Goku, tossing the ball up into the air. This time, he didn’t hesitate and caught it with his usual finesse.

  
  


………………………..

  
  


He reached out and lifted a strand of blue hair off her neck. He was completely and totally pathetic. He held it between his fingers, more black than blue in the darkness of his room. A small tug and then he let her hair fall back. She yawned, smacked her lips together, and flipped onto her back. He wasn’t even disgusted.   
  
Completely and totally pathetic.   
  
He wasn’t sure how long he watched her, but eventually her eyes blinked open. Her mask of sleepiness faded, and a smile tugged on her lips. He nearly groaned at the look in her eyes. She sat up, his sheets falling off her chest and pooling around her lap. Her spine straight, naked and unashamed, and that damn smile on her lips.   
  
“What time is it?” she asked, and he shrugged because he hadn’t the faintest clue.   
  
It was her turn to watch him. The way he sat up beside her, twisting to face her, unaware--or perhaps, she amended, very aware--of how every movement he made showcased a different set of muscles.   
  
“I have an early morning,” she said, and then she sunk into him. She rolled her tongue around his, her hands already skipping to the hem of his boxers.   
  
One of his hands was on her knee, the other behind her head. His teeth on her lower lip, the way she liked it… Because, what had he mentioned the other day at his parents’? About  sooner not doing something at all if he wasn’t going to get it right.   
  
And there he was. When he brushed the inside of her left thigh with his fingers and he felt her squirm, he pressed the weight of his hand--warm and heavy--against her thigh again. When his breath touched the shell of her ear and she tightened her hold on his shoulder, he nibbled.   
  
When he ran his tongue over her pert nipple and she tossed her head back, mumbling his name, he spent extra time exploring there, eliciting more breathy sounds from her throat.   
  
Because he studied her, learned what made her tick, and became an expert in giving her pleasure. Even though she’d mocked him for saying so the other day, Bulma was suddenly aware of the benefits of having a perfectionist between her legs.   
  
Why bother to do something if you’re not going to excel at it, indeed.   
  
  


 

………………………..   
  


 

  
“I… I… I really can’t…” A peal of laughter escaped Chichi’s throat, and she lifted her knees to fend off his finger. “Stop!” A squeak. Something between a scream and a laugh. “Se-Seriously, stop!”   
  
He pulled away, a grin on his features as her laughter died off. She stared back at him, a smile still on her lips.  Her cheeks red, just like when they’d sparred…   
  
“You’re blushing,” Chichi said.   
  
“It isn’t a good idea to go around telling people you’re ticklish.”   
  
She nodded. “I know. But you seemed like someone I could trust.”   
  
Suddenly, his eyes were big and earnest. “I am.”   
  
Lower lip caught between her teeth, she stilled. “I know.”   
  
And she did. She could trust him. She  _ liked  _ him, dammit. When he was near, her heartbeat picked up just like it had that first time he’d come into the bakery.   
  
“I know,” she said it again. “I trust you, Goku.”   
  
His eyes widened a fraction at her words. “You’re… You’re sure?”   
  
“I am.” She glanced at her hands folded in her lap, trying hard not to make eye contact--and to hide the heat blooming on her cheeks. The candle on her dresser bathed the room in soft light, made everything smell like lemon cake. Goku touched her cheek, trying to get her to look at him. When she lifted her eyes, she found heat in his gaze. “I haven’t done it before.”   
  
‘It.’ She flushed, back to feeling like a child.   
  
Goku started to pull away from her. “You don’t have to. I don’t expect-- I…”   
  
“I know.” Her smile was soft, but she wasn’t blushing. Her hands weren’t shaking. She reached out for him, pulling him close. “You won’t make me do anything, and I know you don’t expect anything, but I’m ready.”

 

 

………………………..

  
  


 

There was a knock on the door. It wasn’t the peppy  _ tap, tap, tapping  _ of Bulma’s usual knocks--the sort of upbeat timbre of her delight in barging into his life and ruining his day.   
  
He was… worried. Vegeta jumped to his feet, discarding his empty glass at the coffee table, and opened the door.   
  
She stood there--her cheeks flushed, her eyes weary, and her teeth chattering so loudly he could hear them.   
  
“It’s c-cold,” Bulma said in lieu of greeting, and then she practically fell into his chest.   
  
The heat radiating from her body convinced him she was anything but cold, but she shivered against him, her slight shoulders shuddering in his grasp. Reflexively, his fingers tightened their hold on her. She had been putting in long nights and early mornings lately, dedicated and lost in her current project. But he hadn’t realized she’d been putting herself at such risk...   
  
“Come inside,” he said, and damn his voice for sounding almost gentle. When she didn’t move, he scooped her up and carried her, kicking the door shut behind him. When he set her down on his bed, she curled on her side and gave a pathetic sniffle.   
  
“I’m sick,” she muttered into his pillow.   
  
He almost smiled. “I see that. You look awful.”   
  
“You have to be nice to me. I don’t feel well.” Her eyes were closed, her cheeks red against her pale skin. She looked helpless and pitiful in the center of his bed. Bulma gave another long, disgusting sniffle and yanked his blanket up to her chin.   
  
There was something wrong with him, he knew, as he heated water in his kettle and procured one of the two mugs he owned. He’d never cared for someone weak and pathetic before, not like this. He should worry about getting himself sick--his career couldn’t afford it. And it was late. He should be upstairs, working out…   
  
Instead, he brought Bulma tea. Pressed his hand against her forehead and frowned at her temperature. He rubbed her back when she whimpered, turned off the light and watched her sleep for longer than was necessary, and cursed himself in the otherwise quiet of his bedroom. Which had, inexplicably, became  _ theirs _ if he were done lying to himself.   
  
This wasn’t about his reputation or spot on the team. It wasn’t even about the sex. No, it was something else entirely. Something wholly and entirely frightening. Something he didn’t want to think about but something he didn’t have to--because he knew.   
  
He closed his eyes. He fucking  _ knew _ .   
  
He liked her. Bulma snorted and drooled beside him in his bed, and he knew.


	15. The One With the Shower

 

The front door swung open, and Bulma leapt off his sofa, nearly knocking her computer to the floor.   
  
“You’re back!” she greeted, and even though Vegeta looked exhausted, he nodded.   
  
“Our flight landed an hour earlier than expected.”   
  
Bulma grinned. “I watched your game. And did the dishes. I’m like… the best fake-girlfriend ever.”   
  
He grunted. The door clicked shut behind him, and he dropped his duffle bag. “Is that what you are?”   
  
“Sure.” She helped him out of his jacket, her fingers lingering a bit longer than was necessary at his shoulders. “I mean, I could think of a couple other things to do to prove what a spectacularly lucky guy you are… If you’re not too tired.”   
  
He smirked.   
  
The next morning, when she woke up in a tangle of sheets in Vegeta’s bed, he kissed her and she grumbled against him.   
  
“I’m exhausted. After sex, I went back and finished my research paper,” she muttered. Vegeta grunted, uncaring. And she blinked her big blue eyes open at him and sighed. “Fine. But I’m tired, so you have to be on top.”   
  
“Such a lazy woman…” he grunted, flipping her on her back and chuckling at the squeal she let out. She tugged his t-shirt over his head, her eyes flashing with  indignation .   
  
“Hey, I rode you till you couldn’t speak in coherent sentences last night.”   
  
He grinned down at her. “And I appreciated every second of it.”   
  
“And, what?” she asked as he nibbled her shoulder. “Now you have to complain about doing a little work.”   
  
His lips lifted from the juncture of her shoulder and neck. “A little?! Tch. you’re a  _ lot _ of work.”   
  
She glared. “And I’m worth every second, bud.”   
  
He grunted, low in his throat, but didn’t say anything of the counter. And he fucked her, and her head hit the headboard and she laughed under him, and he kept eye contact the entire time.   
  
And afterwards, he fell asleep and Bulma watched him, her heart full and happy, and--   
  
“Shit.”   
  
Bulma sat up in bed, her eyes wide. She’d promised she wouldn’t fall for him, even though it was stupid, and she was a rational, independent adult. There she was. Thoroughly into the asshole who wasn’t even really her boyfriend.   
  
Even though everyone thought they were. Even though they ate most meals together and had amazing sex. Even though he was opening up to her, introducing her to his family…   
  
She grabbed her cellphone off her-- _ his-- _ nightstand and dressed, quickly, before ducking into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind her.   
  
Chichi was probably asleep, and her mom was on a cruise… She clutched her phone to her chest, before sighing and lifting the screen before her face. She thumbed through her contacts and her phone rang, twice, before her sister Tights answered with a startle d, “Bulma?”   
  
“Hey…”   
  
Her sister sighed from the other end of the line. “Everything okay, Bee?”   
  
“Y-Yeah. Definitely.” She brought up their parents, and Tights hadn’t been in much contact, either, save for the occasional blurry cellphone photo her mom would text. Usually a skewed selfie that cut off half their father’s face.   
  
“So I doubt you called you so early to ask if I’ve talked to Mom,” Tights said. Damn her sister for sensing her mood from the opposite side of the continent.   
  
“Tights…” Bulma paused, tried to put her jumbled thoughts into coherent sentences, and failed. How she’d been able to type up her discoveries in thermodynamics and then fall completely short when it came to the mess that was her love life wasn’t lost on her. “You’re strong. You never needed to be with anyone.”   
  
Her sister laughed. “You never needed to be with anyone either, Bulma. But you  _ like _ being with someone. That’s why it took so long for you to make a clean break with Yamcha. Because being with him was easy.”   
  
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t  _ want  _ to be with someone so ba--”   
  
“When you were eight you already wanted the perfect boyfriend. But maybe instead of perfect what you need is someone tough, someone who challenges you.”   
  
“You know.”   
  
“Everyone knows. Everyone’s seen the photos. I don’t know what exactly your deal with this rugby player is, but I can tell. You like him.”   
  
“I do. And that’s the problem.” Bulma sat down on Vegeta’s sofa, staring at the TV screen. It was turned off, and she could see her skewed reflection in the screen. Her eyes were wide, her skin paler than usual.   
  
Tights sighed. “Give it a shot, Bee. You’re not one to back down from a fight.”   
  
Fighting she could do. It was the other stuff that was… messy.   
  
But she slipped back into his bed, pulled the sheet up over her shoulders, and tried to get some sleep. Later, she’d have to deal with the messy stuff. She rested her forehead against Vegeta’s chest and sighed. Right now, she’d just enjoy this. Whatever it was.   
  


 

………………………..

  
  


Before the sun was rising and flooding her bedroom with light and the traffic of the city floated up to the highest floor in West City, Chichi’s phone alarm blared in the dark.   
  
While she reached out a hand to silence the early morning alarm, Goku mumbled into her collarbone. His deep voice sleepy, his words incoherent.   
  
Chichi laughed, flipping on her desk lamp, more than used to her boyfriend’s inability to function as a human being in the mornings. He could barely make it on time to his rugby practices, so Chichi’s early mornings in the bakery meant more often than not she’d leave him to wake up in her room, alone, with nothing more than a leftover muffin on the bedside.   
  
This morning, however, his hands reached out and stole her slim waist. Chichi smiled down at his sleepy expression and greeted, “Morning.”   
  
He flashed a lopsided grin in the lamplight.   
  
“Don’t go yet.”   
  
“I have to shower and get to the bakery.” She ruffled some of his black hair because she could. “But I have a half today. I’ll be home by ten.”   
  
He hummed in response. “What are you making?”   
  
Chichi bit her lip, relishing in the menu she’d been putting together last night after she’d fallen asleep after sex. Sex with Goku. Her  _ boyfriend _ .   
  
“Coffee cake with chocolate ganache, a vanilla cake with cranberry and orange frosting, and a coconut chiffon cake I made for my final in pastry school.”   
  
He nuzzled against her bare arm. “Mm. Sounds good.”   
  
“Everything sounds good to you in the morning…” she mumbled, freezing the second the words were out and hanging between them.   
  
Goku sat up, quickly, and grinned. “Yeah,” he replied, before he kissed her.   
  
She pulled away, laughing, and nudged his arm. “I have to shower.”   
  
“Okay. I’ll help.”   
  
Rolling her eyes, Chichi stood and led him to the shower. Beneath the spray of water, he watched her tip her head back--letting the water heavy her hair. He joined her, quickly tugging off his boxers.   
  
He was already hard and, with a giggle that echoed in the small, tiled space, Chichi dropped to her knees.   
  
The second her lips met him, Goku’s eyes widened. One of his hands flew out to support himself against the slick wall. Clearly surprised, he watched her. In their few weeks together, he’d done most of the work in showing her ins out of sex.   
  
He hadn’t minded. Not being particularly experienced but still a famous, red-blooded male. But with Chichi it was… different.   
  
His hands threaded in her hair, his head tipping back to let a groan rip from his throat. He’d pictured this hundreds of times while they sparred. Her legs wrapping around him, her tiny fists trying to make contact with his jaw. He’d wanted so much more every time, leaving every one of their matches to seek refuge beneath a cold shower.   
  
Only to find himself there--in a decidedly not cold shower.   
  
Her eyes were on him, a little smile playing on her lips. He had never been more sure of anything in his entire life as he was then: Chichi was going to undo him.   
  
His hands tightened in her hair. He helped her set a pace. Slowly at first, relishing in the feel of her lips and tongue. And when he wasn’t sure he could last any longer, he guided her faster, deeper, and when he spilled into her mouth with a grunt, she stood up, smiling coyly at him.   
  
He was fairly sure he’d created a monster. He’d never wanted anything more in his entire life.   
  
She finished showering and then stepped out, drying her body and twisting her dark hair into a towel. He followed her out, not missing the way her dark eyes watched him towel off his chest and abs.   
  
He smirked when she realized she’d been caught watching, and she rolled her eyes.   
  
“Yeah, you’re sexy. Whatever.”   
  
He laughed and watched her dress in her simple black baking clothes that still smelled like vanilla no matter how many times she’d washed them. She wouldn’t bother to tie her apron on until she go to the shop, but he’d try his luck at untying it later, when he’d go visit her.   
  
“When do you get back?”   
  
“Ten. I already told you,” she replied, sounding mildly annoyed, but he ignored her tone, and instead hummed in anticipation. He loved Chichi best when she came back from the bakery, smelling like cake, sometimes a bit of sugar in her hair.   
  
“What?” she asked, crossing her arms.   
  
He grinned. “Do you want to be an employee of the Cake Bitch forever?”   
  
“No.” She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. “I’d like to to open my own storefront, eventually. But I don’t have the money for that yet.”   
  
“I’ll buy you a shop. Just pay me back in baked goods.”   
  
Chichi laughed before realizing he was serious. Then, she slapped his arm. “I’m going to make it on my own, Goku.”   
  
“Oh. Of course.”   
  
Her eyes were sparkling when she said, “But thanks. I don’t think anyone’s believed in me like that. Except my dad.”   
  
“Your dad?”   
  
She nodded. Chichi hadn’t talked to him about her family much, but her dad was important to her. Besides Bulma, he was the only other person who’d always been planted firmly in her corner.   
  
Trying to make sure her voice wasn’t small, she asked, “Would you like to meet him?”   
  
“Yeah.” Goku beamed. “I have a question for him.”   
  
Chichi blinked. Surely…. No. She buried her head into his chest. He was strong, solid--with a good heart beating beneath warm skin. And she inhaled. Not yet, definitely not that yet.   
  
But maybe… She could let her heart squeeze with hope. Because maybe someday…   
  


 

  
………………………..   
  


 

  
“Let’s get burgers tonight,” Bulma said, resting her feet on Vegeta’s lap.   
  
“I told you I was in the mood for ramen.”   
  
He shoved her feet off his lap, but she immediately put them back.   
  
“We had ramen last week.” Bulma puffed out her cheeks, but Vegeta couldn’t see her pout. He was too busy frowning at her socked feet in his lap. “Besides, you just like the ego boost from the pretty waitress who gives you free pork.”   
  
“Tch. I just like ramen.”   
  
Bulma grinned. “You don’t like burgers?”   
  
“Fine. Burgers, if it’ll get you to shut up.”   
  
She swung her legs around, removing her feet from his lap, and grinned. “Never!”   
  
They walked to a burger joint around the corner. Bulma winked at the boy behind the counter and, somehow, ended up sucking a free strawberry milkshake through a fat straw. On the way home, it started raining. Vegeta held the umbrella for her--mentally smacking himself for the little thrill of warmth that came every time her arm brushed against his.   
  
He was weak. And definitely not admitting to himself what being with her meant. Because, really, if they were more than just fake-dating would that really be so bad?   
  
A gust of wind had him clutching the umbrella tighter. Above them, the trees shook as the wind tried to rip what leaves were left free. Bulma shivered at his side and started rummaging through her bag.   
  
“I keep a Capsule car on me…” She pulled out a capsule, frowned, and tossed it back into the void that was her purse. “All I’m finding are motorbikes.”   
  
“It’s fine. We’re nearly there.”   
  
The wind tossed her blue hair around her shoulders. The cold reddened her cheeks.   
  
They walked in silence, Bulma fidgeting with her scarf, before she finally sucked in a big breath of air. Vegeta braced himself for whatever she was steeling herself to say next.   
  
“What do you think of making this real?”   
  
His legs kept walking, but his mind stumbled for a moment.   
  
“This?”   
  
Bulma cocked her head to the side, her scarf now a mess around her neck. “This. Us. Our… relationship.”   
  
“We’re fine. Why fix what isn’t broken.”   
  
“Because it feels kind of broken to me,” she replied. Her eyes were big and blue and unflinching. Whatever reservations she had about them, Bulma never approached anything spineless. It would’ve impressed him if he weren’t terrified.   
  
“I don’t think we need to change anything. This works.”   
  
“I want more.”   
  
They rounded the corner to his street and climbed the porch steps, but Bulma didn’t walk towards his door. Her gaze hard, she leveled her stare on him and kept her distance. Even still, they were close, and beneath the porchlights Vegeta could count her eyelashes. Could see the way her fists compressed in frustration at her sides.   
  
“I don’t see the point in changing this, making it more complicated than it has to be.”   
  
“I deserve more.”   
  
He stared at her. She stared back. Another short burst of wind, and Bulma took a step back, away from him.   
  
“I’ll come by tomorrow for my things.”   
  
Vegeta gave a short, bitter laugh that made her freeze.   
  
“You’re ending this because you’re unhappy?”   
  
“I’m ending this because you’re an asshole who won’t let himself have anything he actually wants.”   
  
He watched her go then, confused. And when he watched the television that evening--because of her, he’d gotten used to having it on--his lap was empty with no one trying to shove their feet in it.   
  


 

  
………………………..   
  


 

  
Bulma paced across the conference room, stiffening the moment 18 entered. The blonde gave her the smallest tilt of her head. Bulma sighed.   
  
“I’m ready to break it off.”   
  
18 set her briefcase on the table, her features impassive. “Okay.”   
  
“Will you talk to Krillin about it?”   
  
“Yes.” 18 met her eyes, and Bulma swore there was something like a frown in her expression. “I can do that. It’s none of my business, but it seemed like you might actually like him.”   
  
Bulma felt the words like a kick to the gut.   
  
“I do. But he can’t agree to make it real, apparently, and I’m ready to get out before it gets messy.”   
  
Messi _ er _ . Bulma nearly groaned.   
  
“But I think it’s… good, right? Our reputations?”   
  
18 nodded. “Yes. It wasn’t as long as we’d originally agreed upon, but I think Krillin will attest that you’ve both done more than we originally thought possible to patch up your images.”   
  
“Good,” Bulma replied. Even if it was the furthest word she could think of to describe her situation just then.   
  


 

………………………..

  
  


Just as she’d promised, Bulma showed up with a capsule storage cube and knocked on Vegeta’s door. When he opened it, he looked surprised to see her.   
  
“You have a key.”   
  
Bulma dropped it into his hand. “Yes. But I’m returning it. I’m here to collect my things.”   
  
She brushed past him, and he watched her with a blink. “What?”   
  
“Krillin will be in contact with you soon. 18 and he will go over the details, but congratulations--you’re done dealing with me. Consider your reputation salvaged, and your penance for drunk elevator sex atoned.”   
  
He wanted to toss his hands up. Maybe shout at her a bit. Instead, he hesitated before asking, “Are you angry?”   
  
Bulma froze, pausing tossing her belongings into the box.   
  
When she whirled around, her eyes were narrowed. “I’m not mad,” she grit, her tone and body language implying the opposite. “I’m just ready to end this. I don’t want to fake it anymore.”   
  
Vegeta crossed his arms. “Okay. Fine.”   
  
“Fine?!” Her eyes were wide again. “That’s all you have to say? Doesn’t it feel a bit like we’re breaking up?”   
  
“No. We weren’t actually together, and splitting up was always part of the arrangement.”   
  
“I hope you choke on your ramen,” she mumbled. Then snapped the box closed, condensed it into a capsule, and clenched it in her fist. “I can’t believe I thought…”   
  
Vegeta would’ve sworn his expression hadn’t budged, but Bulma paused, her features softening a fraction.   
  
“I don’t hate you or anything. You were actually a pretty solid fake-boyfriend. Better than the real guys I’ve dated, honestly.”   
  
“Yeah.” He watched her go. “I had fun.”   
  
Bulma laughed at his front door. “Fun. Yeah. Me, too.”   
  
Then she tugged at the door handle and entered the cold, not turning back as the door smacked its frame. Not glancing over her shoulder as she walked. Not wasting a single tear to mourn a relationship that never was.


	16. The One with the Snow

It was quiet. Almost too quiet.  
  
Vegeta sat at the counter eating a premade meal. He’d heated it up, and there’d been no debate over what was for dinner. He rinsed his dish and put it in the washer, where only a single cup sat because there was no one around to dirty seven cups in a single day.  
  
He’d been alone for most of his life, but this was the first time he felt... lonely.  
  
Vegeta shut his eyes, tight, and tried to convince himself it was only the sex that he missed, really. But it was… She was… He groaned and slammed the dishwasher door.  
  
He was fucked.

 

………………………..

 

  
It seemed like ages since she’d driven up to the gates of the CC main building--the large, circular mansion where her parents lived. Bulma was waved through the gates and parked her shiny new car in the driveway before racing up the short parth to her parent’s front door.  
  
Her mom was waiting on her, and before Bulma could take a good look to see how much the sunshine and relaxation had altered her already easy-going mother, she was wrapped in a tight embrace. Everything smelled like freesia and pink wine. Bulma laughed.  
  
“Drinking already?”  
  
“We had a little welcome home party, just your father and I. It’s been so long since it was just the two of us.” Her mother’s smile widened. “The cruise was dinner after dinner, sunset after sunset with other couples and old friends and new acquaintances.”  
  
Bulma smiled. “Sounds awful.”  
  
Her mother waved a hand in the air. “It was great, of course! Just good to finally be home.”  
  
While her mother looked tanner, and maybe a bit fuller in the cheeks and hips, her father looked the exact same as when he’d left. Bulma wondered if he enjoyed the sunshine at all on the trip. That, or he was practical enough to bring along half a year’s worth of sunscreen.  
  
“I want to hear all about it,” Bulma said as she sunk into one of her mom’s plush sofas.  
  
“No, no,” Ms. Briefs replied. “We want to hear about all that we missed with _you_ .”  
  
“Uh.” Bulma shrugged. “Nothing much, really. Still at the university. I got a new project because the windtunnel stuff wrapped up. We’re going to try--”  
  
“Not work stuff, Bulma.” Ms. Briefs sighed dramatically. “I’m going to make tea and then you’re going to tell me all about you and the athlete with the abs.”  
  
Bulma blinked. And then she followed her mother’s gaze to the mantel above the fireplace where a framed picture of the magazine cover sat on display. The photograph where she was bookended between an elevator wall and Vegeta. Her legs splayed, her eyes wide.  
  
“You _framed_ that?!” she asked, although her voice let on that she was more surprised than she actually felt. She knew her mother quite well, after all.  
  
“It was the only picture I had of you and your new boyfriend! When I got the papers that morning over breakfast, I was so excited. I went right to the gift shop to buy a frame.”  
  
Her father looked up from his _Popular Science_ magazine with a jaded expression. “It was the talk of breakfast.”  
  
“I also cut out his underwear ad. Now, I’ll make tea, and then you’ll spill.”  
  
Bulma didn’t have the heart to let her mom know that, just last week, she’d decided to call off the sham of a relationship with Vegeta. Not because she didn’t like him, but because she liked him too much.  
  
With her mother’s voice humming from the kitchen, Bulma turned to her dad and sighed.  
  
“I’m sorry. Apparently this mess might’ve ruined my reputation with the board of CC. I’ve been working to smooth things over with the PR team, but--”  
  
“I don’t give two shits what those guys think.” Dr. Briefs grunted. “If you want the company, reputation be damned, it’s yours. I didn’t build CC to please a bunch of board members. Our research and inventions speak for themselves. No one’s more qualified than you to take over.” He paused, his gaze meeting hers from over the top of his magazine, and his expression softened. “If that’s what you decide you want.”  
  
Bulma smiled, the pieces feeling like they were finally clicking into place. “It is.”  
  
  
  
………………………..  
  
  
  
He was fucking insane.  
  
The music was loud. The beer was cold, and he took a sip. Then he ordered a glass of water. Vegeta didn’t drink much, and tonight wasn’t the time to start. He wanted his mind clear.  
  
Raditz slapped a hand on his back, and even though it didn’t hurt, Vegeta flinched.  
  
“I’m off,” Goku said. Standing from the table only to pause, stuff a fistful of cheese fries in his mouth and say, “I’ve got plans with my lady.”  
  
Vegeta kept still. His head pounding, a vein throbbing near his temple. He was there because, as painful as it was to admit, his house felt empty. It wasn’t because he wanted to be around people now. There wasn’t _that_ much wrong with him.  
  
Vegeta stared at his full beer before swapping his gaze to the other end of the bar where his teammates were flirting shamelessly with a gaggle of women. He wanted to be anywhere else. He’d probably rather be home.  
  
“What’s wrong with you?” Raditz asked. His gaze was serious, for once, and his lips were drawn into a thoughtful frown. “You seem angry. No, that isn’t quite right... You seem angr _ier_ than usual.”  
  
Vegeta shrugged a shoulder, feeling the sore muscles from the last game. His tackle form was suffering lately, and he kept leaning in with his left shoulder, being reckless.  
  
“You should join them. It looks like you could use a rebound.”  
  
Vegeta stilled. “No.”  
  
Raditz dropped into the stool beside him and took a sip of whiskey through a tiny straw that was intended for stirring. “You want Bulma back, then?”  
  
_Yes_ . Vegeta didn’t say it aloud, but the thought was there. He was pathetic for thinking it.

  
  
………………………..  
  
  
  
  
Bulma’s knee bounced with impatience as she watched her PR rep. A small smile danced across 18’s usually stoic features. And even though it took a bit of effort, Bulma knew she was happy for her friend. Even if she was also searing with jealousy. It was just like watching Chichi and Goku giggle when the trio had a movie night. Disgusting, but she could suck it up (sort of) and smile.  
  
Only, she hadn’t dropped by the PR office to watch 18 flirt via text with Krillin. Bulma sighed, “What did you want to chat with me about that couldn’t wait until after class?”  
  
18’s eyes snapped to meet hers. “Oh. Right.”  
  
Bulma wanted roll her eyes. _Right_ .  
  
“I think you should go on a date.”  
  
Her knee stopped bouncing. Her lips parted slightly. Bulma squinted. “A… date?” It took her brilliant brain a moment too long to realize 18 wasn’t talking about going on a date with Vegeta. Bulma swallowed. “Oh. A date.”  
  
18 nodded. “Yes. It’s been weeks, and we don’t want it to look like you’re wallowing in misery, unable to get over your ex. You’re supposed to look strong, confident.”  
  
Bulma opened her mouth, but she didn’t have anything to say. She didn’t feel like she was wallowing, but she definitely didn’t want to date anyone just yet. She wasn’t over her ex--fake as he might’ve been.  
  
“I’ve lined up some suitable candidates.” 18 shoved a stack of manilla folders, headshots paperclipped to their fronts. When Bulma flipped open the folder on top, she found a resume staring back at her. She laughed.  
  
“Did you post a job application to date me?”  
  
18 blinked, clearly unamused. “Of course not. These are just men we know would be suitable for the job.”  
  
“The job. Of dating me…” Bulma chewed on her lower lip before setting the stack of folders back down on the table. “Right. Well, I think if I’m going to date, I’m going to go about it the old fashioned way. But, honestly 18, right now...”  
  
“Krillin said Vegeta’s in a worse mood than usual,” 18 interrupted. “Not sure how anyone could tell.”  
  
Bulma tilted her head, some of her blue hair falling out from the knit cap she wore to ward off the chill of outside. “What does that have to do with anything?”  
  
“Just that perhaps you’d like to patch things up with Vegeta first, if you’re not up to dating one of the eleven hand-picked candidates there.”  
  
She laughed, then froze, before laughing again. “18 this is… really something, I guess. It’s insane, actually. I mean, I _am_ going to date again, eventually, but I don’t want it to be for the cameras. The next time I’m with someone, I want it to be real.”  
  
18 collected the stack of resumes and dumped them into a drawer. “I understand.”  
  
Bulma wasn’t sure that she did, but she smiled and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. On the walk to class, she chewed on her lip, deciding to redownload the dating app on her phone. She wasn’t going to use it, but it didn’t hurt to look.  
  
And, yeah, probably “the old fashioned way” wouldn’t have involved a smartphone, but Bulma didn’t feel up to putting herself out there at a bar. It made her tired just thinking about it.  
  
When she got back from class that evening, Chichi microwaved a bag of popcorn and settled beside her on the couch.  
  
“Just like the old days,” Chichi said, ignoring her best friend’s harrumph. “Let’s do this!”  
  
Bulma swiped through the app, trying to read the little blurb each person wrote about themselves. Trying to ignore her friends occasional comment.  
  
“Ohhh. He looks smart,” Chichi said, pointing to a grinning redhead.  
  
Bulma twisted to face her. “Why on earth would you think that?”  
  
“He’s got books in his room. See?” Chichi’s finger smudged the screen. “You definitely don’t want to date someone who doesn’t own any books.”  
  
“Does Goku own books?” she asked, swiping across the photo. It was replaced by a blond man winking at the screen.  
  
“Ug. He’s winking in his photo,” Chichi complained, and then yelped at the elbow she received to her ribs.  
  
“Hey now, _I’m_ winking in my photo.”  
  
“You would be,” Chichi mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn.  
  
Bulma eventually settled on a man with close-cropped dark hair who hadn’t chosen a bathroom mirror selfie. He looked fine, his small blurb mentioning his engineering career and love for cats sounded promising. His smile looked kind; Bulma decided she could use kind.  
  
When he’d messaged her if tonight was too soon to meet, Chichi jovially replied that it wasn’t. Even though, to Bulma, it felt eons too soon. A little stone of doubt settled in her chest, and she tried to ignore it, tried to repeat, “I can date. I can totally go on a date,” to herself like a mantra.  
  
Chichi nodded enthusiastically behind her. “Definitely!”  
  
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Bulma shot back.  
  
“He’s at practice. Besides, I’m helping you get ready. I watched like seven tutorials on how to do a _smokier than smoke smokey eye_ , and you’re going to let me practice on you.”  
  
Bulma rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “What are friends for?”

 

  
………………………..

 

  
She’d wanted nice, and her date was certainly that. Nice, polite. He was also good looking with sharp features and kind, green eyes. Definitely no abs of steel hiding behind his tie--probably no decidedly lickable ‘V’ disappearing into the band of his pants. But he seemed stable and not afraid to take what he wanted, and so Bulma smiled.  
  
She chatted, did her best to be positive. He asked about her university research and chimed in on all the right cues. She could probably get along with him, really, if her mind wasn’t elsewhere.  
  
The food was fine, but she missed the familiarity of dinners with Vegeta. Of bickering on the walk home. Of the way his chuckle sent electricity down her spine. Of the way he’d run his thumb across her knuckles when she was least expecting it.  
  
Her heart felt a bit bruised, so she shoved those thoughts aside. Just as her perfectly polite date asked what her plans for the future were, Bulma’s phone buzzed in her purse. She ignored it, accepted another glass of wine, and nodded as her date excused himself to the bathroom.  
  
Expecting a smiling thumbs-up selfie from Chichi, Bulma peeked down at her phone and nearly sent it crashing to floor.  
  
The artificial light seemed blinding in the dimly-lit restaurant, and the notification of a text message from Vegeta had her heart pounding against her ribs. Quickly, she read the single, simple word he’d sent that she knew meant far more than he’d probably intended.  
  
_Hey_ .  
  
Bulma smiled, and with her thumbs typed back: _Hey_. When her date came back to the table, she wouldn’t lead him on, because that wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

 

  
………………………..

 

  
He was really fucking pathetic. Sitting alone at the ramen shop, waiting on his meal to-go, he wanted to shove his head into his hands and growl. Bulma had tainted all his favorite spots in the city, memories of his short time with her stretching in every corner where he tried to seek refuge. He could see her teasing him by the register, her laughter filling the small shop. He could remember how she shivered by the door when she’d made them walk one evening, even though he’d warned it would rain.  
  
And so, because he was such a pathetic excuse for a being, he’d texted her. For some damn reason, he wanted her to know that he’d been thinking of her. Even if he’d fucked it up. Even if they couldn’t get back what they’d had.  
  
He’d taken the paper sack and left a tip, made the short trudge to his townhouse in silence, and eaten alone at the counter.  
  
When he glanced at his phone before bed, he stared at the single word she’d typed back.  
  
_Hey_ .  
  
Somewhere, whether he’d deserved it or not, she was thinking of him, too. He tossed his phone on the bedside table and cursed himself.  
  
The following morning on the walk to practice, his eyes flitted toward the newstand where rows and rows of trashy tabloids sat waiting to be purchased. It was a habit he’d developed thanks to his fake-relationship with Bulma. He’d nearly tripped over his own feet when his eyes landed on a cover boasting her photo. In it, her hair was done up, a slinky black dress hung off her shoulders as she left a restaurant in a swanky part of the city they never frequented, and her blue eyes were trained on some guy Vegeta itched to punch square in the nose. The headline spelled out in bold letters that “ _Capsule Corp. heiress finds new fling_ .”  
  
_Fuck_ . He hated himself. Hated that for no good reason, he’d denied her, himself… them. She’d asked him once why he purposefully denied himself things that he knew would bring him pleasure. Pride, probably. A sense of self-assurance he wore like armor. He was also feeling like an idiot, really.  
  
If he could go back, he’d do it differently. But there weren’t any time machines (unless Bulma got it in her mind to make one, the damn persistent bitch) so there was no use wasting energy agonizing over ‘what ifs’.  
  
And if his tackles were a bit more forceful than usual at practice, it had nothing to do with the smiling man on the magazine cover next to his Bulma. Absolutely nothing.

 

…………………….

 

She felt the thrum of the stadium against her skin. It was chilly, and Bulma stuffed her hands into the pocket of her Dragons hoodie. She’d missed the energy of the game, the hum of the crowd and vibrancy of the fans. She liked the shouting, the comradery.  
  
At her side, Chichi had her hair piled into a bun at the top of her head as they weaved through the crowd toward the stands. The wind hit her face, and Bulma shivered. They stood in front of their seats, joining the masses cheering as the team took to the field. Bulma kept her eyes on Vegeta. His frown, his set shoulders. Her heart picked up a notch.  
  
Chichi bumped her shoulder against hers. “You all right?”  
  
“Yeah.” Bulma hoped her smile wasn’t sad. “I’m good.”  
  
“Goku says he misses you,” Chichi said, her eyes still on the field. Bulma let the hope bubble and warm her despite the cold. “I think it’s going to snow.”  
  
The snow held off, and Goku lead the team to victory. Bulma bit back a grin as her best friend shouted and jumped in the stands. She laughed as they made their way down the field, Chichi half running to congratulate her boyfriend.  
  
Bulma stuck out her tongue at the display, Chichi leaping into Goku’s arms and burying her head against his shoulder.  
  
When she turned away from the show of affection, Bulma found Vegeta watching her.  
  
His eyes widened when she met his gaze, and even though there were cameras around, she thought the shock might’ve been real.  
  
He looked the same--broody and bored with everything, his lips pressed in a perpetual scowl. His handsome face, those high cheekbones, the upswept hair her fingers itched to touch. His black and green Dragons jersey was damp with sweat, a scrape marred the skin of his right arm from a nasty hit she didn’t remember seeing him take.  
  
Vegeta was a complicated person, not one to go out of his way when it was inconvenient for him.  Which was why she knew, if this was going to work, she was going to have to take the first step…  
  
She closed the distance between them and smiled.  
  
“Hey,” Bulma greeted. “Good job out there. Not that I expect anything less.”  
  
His features darkened. “My tackles are still shit. I keep leading with my left shoulder and--”  
  
A finger was shoved in front of his lips. The shock of it silencing him more than the gesture itself.  
  
“Don't be so hard on yourself.” And that’s when she noticed the shadows below his eyes, the way he compensated for a shoulder injury by putting his weight on his right foot. Her voice was soft. “You look exhausted.”  
  
For the first time that day, he smirked. “Which is strange, because I don’t have someone keeping me up all night while they’re typing up research reports or trying to talk to me first thing in the morning about lipstick colors.”  
  
Bulma wasn’t sure what to do with that information, so she inclined her head and waited. Blue eyes daring him to elaborate.  
  
“I haven’t been sleeping well.”  
  
Her smile was like armor. “Me either.”  
  
At his side, his hand shook. Bulma’s eyes were big, earnest. The sort of brutal honesty she wore around not only him but everyone. She was brave and open, challenging him and scaring the shit out of him at every turn. But she’d come here. If not to ask for him back, then to see him at least. And he probably didn’t deserve it, but he said anyway, “Come home.”  
  
Vegeta took a step closer, partly because he didn’t want anyone else to hear him, but mostly because he craved nearness. He wanted to touch her. Wanted the right to touch her hair, her cheek. Her lips.  
  
A single blue brow lifted in question. “Home?”  
  
“You’d practically moved in, so sure. Whatever. My sink’s been clean for weeks--it’s bugging the shit out of me.”  
  
He looked annoyed, and Bulma laughed. Then she reached out, grabbing the damp fabric of his jersey. “For real, for real?”  
  
“If that’s the arrangement you want…”  
  
Even though his words were harsh and his tone cold, Bulma recognized the look in his eyes. Vegeta held her elbow, her fingers still clutching his jersey. She wanted to hug him, kiss him. She _definitely_ wanted to fuck him to make up for lost time.  
  
Bulma grinned. “Yeah. That’s the arrangemen t I want.”  
  
And there on the rugby field in front of their friends, his teammates, a crowd and more cameras than he could count, Vegeta kissed her and it started to snow.

 

_……………………._

_The End_

_……………………._

 

  

 

 

art by Sanzosin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! That’s it. The end of this Big Bang story I’ve been working on, tweaking, falling in love with and then hating all over again. It was SO DIFFICULT to write something for this fandom without any feedback, especially 'cause I didn't know if what I thought was funny and sexy and fun would actually come across that way. I’m usually one to chat with my readers and see what they like/dislike, want to see, etc. This was different and difficult and made me feel vulnerable, but it was also so fun and fulfilling. I honestly loved writing this story, and I really, really hope you (those of you who made it to the end!) enjoyed it as well.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Thank you so much GreatRageShortLegs and Sanzosin for the amazing art. Thank you so much Saiyanerd for suggesting the Fake Dating prompt on the Vegebulocracy discord server (which everyone should join! Just ask and I'll send you the link). My infinite thanks to Maiika and rockykelboa for their keen beta eyes and suggestions. And thank you, thank you to everyone who has commented. It means the world to me.
> 
> <3 Lady Lan


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